raison d’être
by omens
Summary: “You want to make things better? It’s simple; save Fred Weasley.” In which Hermione redoes Deathly Hallows and fixes it all, including herself.
1. Chapter 1

**Name:** Chris

**Title:** raison d'être

**Fandom:** Harry Potter

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** "You want to make things better? It's simple; save Fred Weasley." In which Hermione redoes Deathly Hallows and fixes it all, including herself.

…0…

_imagine a world without me, say you're falling apart_

_let's pretend you've missed me for a while_

_- fact/fiction, mads langer _

…0…

Heaving a deep sigh, Hermione closed her door and sank back against it. She didn't even have to try to know that Ron was still on the other side, in her hallway, hoping she would change her mind and invite him inside.

She just…couldn't. Not yet. Things between them were still too shaky.

It was ridiculous, as both Ron and Ginny kept telling her, to still keep such a distance between herself and her boyfriend of almost three years. But that didn't stop the niggling feeling that something was off whenever they were together these days. Not bad, just off, in some small way that she couldn't pinpoint and didn't understand.

A scratching at the living room window drew her attention and a small smile flitted over her lips when she saw the Weasley family owl sitting on the sill. She opened it and stood back as Barnsey, a gift from Hagrid, did a few laps around her light fixture before making himself comfortable on the coffee table. He extended his leg to Hermione, who untied the bundle carefully with one hand and scratched his head with the other. Once free of his load, he shot out of the window, not even waiting for the treat Hermione usually gave him.

_Found these in an old sweets box while I was cleaning, and thought you might like to have them-Love, Molly._

The envelope was a little tattered, most likely due to Barnsey's mad dash from the Burrow. Molly had been a bit of a cleaning spree lately, coinciding with the arrival of her first grandchild, and had a habit of sending any number of odds and ends to her children and those she considered to be practically hers. The contents turned out to be a small stack of photographs, going all the way back to her first year at Hogwarts. She recognized the picture on top, having seen it numerous times in Harry's photo album, but didn't know how Molly had gotten a copy. Seeing herself with Harry and Ron at eleven was a little shocking, still, reminding her that she had pretty much been building her life around them for close to half her life.

She wondered, briefly, how differently her life would have been if not for one strategically placed mountain troll.

The second picture was another one she had seen before, her and Ginny before Bill and Fleur's wedding, taken by Mrs. Delacour while they were helping the bride get ready. Next came the summer after the war, her and Harry sitting under the big tree at the Burrow, laughing over something Ron was doing out of the frame. She couldn't even remember what it was anymore, only that it felt so good to finally laugh again. At anything.

She continued flipping through them, a sea of familiar faces, some she saw on a regular basis, some that were no longer here, smiling up at her. She was in the majority of them-probably being the factor that prompted Molly to send them to her in the first place, but there were some where she was absent, replaced by Ginny or Harry or Ron, Neville in some, or Hagrid. But each one caused a deep pang in her chest when she realized that she hadn't had a whole lot of moments like those in the last few months of her life.

When Hermione came to the last picture she sat down on the arm of her couch.

After three years Hermione had grown accustomed to the feeling of shock and displacement that washed over her when it would again hit her that Fred Weasley was no longer around.

She knew of course, intellectually at least. It had been the biggest, most gaping reminder of what war could truly do, the loss of someone so young and so painfully alive. It was still hard sometimes to sit at the dinner table at the Burrow and not let her eyes drift to the empty chair that had always unofficially been his.

Looking down at the figures in the frame, Hermione tried to smile but it was difficult, seeing her fourteen year old self sandwiched between a smiling Fred wearing green face paint and Harry in that ridiculous hat at the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione flipped it over. The only words scrawled across the back were _'Harry, Hermione, and Fred. World Cup, 1994'_ which she already knew. She had no idea who had taken the picture, at what point during the game, or even how Molly had come to have it. But the gesture was still appreciated. It must have been difficult for her to give up a picture of Fred to anyone, and she was grateful Molly had sent it to her, though she mentally reminded herself to ask her if she would like a copy, and to make one for Harry as well.

Hermione turned the picture back over, staring at the three faces, laughing, happy, carefree for that brief moment in time, and felt her heart break for what became of those three kids, and all the ones not shown in the tiny square before her.

Before she climbed into bed, Hermione tucked the photo into the frame of the mirror over her dresser, staring at it for a long time in the moonlight after she went to bed.

…0…

The whole next day Hermione had the feeling that she was being watched. She couldn't explain it, and there was never any evidence that was happening outside of her head, and yet the feeling would not abate. She went about her day, poring over ordinances and complaints, reading up on the new regulations in wait to be approved or denied, she had lunch with Harry and had a lengthy conversation with Mr. Weasley when she ran into him on the third floor. She went about her day just as she always did, but the hair on the back of her neck remained on end until she locked the door to her flat and exhaled a breath that had been caught in her throat all day.

Crookshanks walked over to her and wound his way around her legs, purring in the overly sweet way he was prone to do whenever it was obvious she was stressed or upset. She bent to scratch his head and then went to change.

A thump, followed by a long creak, caught her attention, and she didn't even bother to finish changing before she dashed out of her bedroom, wand drawn…

…only to see herself standing in her living room, a bemused expression on her face, Crookshanks looking between the two of them.

"Wha-how…who are you?"

The other Hermione, who looked just a smidge different than the reflection she saw in the mirror everyday, snorted. "I'm you."

That made no sense whatsoever. "But…I'm me."

"Yes, but so am I."

The beginnings of a migraine rose up behind her eyes, the pressure centering itself directly where it was going to be the most annoying. "This is not making any sense whatsoever."

Settling herself on the couch, the other Hermione looked around with a fond smile, allowing Crookshanks to jump into her lap to be petted. "I remember this flat. I loved it here."

"As in, past tense?"

She nodded. "Yes. I don't live here anymore. In my time that is."

Now the pieces were beginning to fall into place. "Your time?"

"I'm from the future," she told her, "roughly two and a half years from now."

Two years? That wasn't much of a stretch, though it did account for the very subtle differences in their appearances, like the slight tan and the shorter, somewhat straighter hair, as well as a small scar on the underside of her wrist that she noticed as the other version of herself stroked the length of the cat's tale.

The only question left was; what was she doing here?

"So why did you come here? And does anyone know? There are rules about time travel and the effects it can have serious consequences-"

A hand came up to cut off the flow of her words. Her mouth clamped shut and, sighing, she sank down in the arm chair on the opposite side of the coffee table from her doppelganger.

"There are a few people who know I'm here, and it was a bit difficult to swing, but the fact of the matter is, I know that you're not happy." Hermione was so dumbfounded that she couldn't even formulate a response-not that it mattered much, as the other Hermione continued to talk, undeterred. "I remember it, that feeling that something's not quite right. And I can tell you how to fix that, how to right things."

"How do you know how to fix things, if you made all the same choices I did?"

It was a fair question. It was impossible to know that something would be better if you had never actually seen it the ramifications of altering the outcome. What if wasn't better? What if it were a gigantic mistake?

"I just," she began, "I can't see how you can be so certain that this will be better."

Leaning forward, the future Hermione laid her palm gently on her hand. She raised her eyes and was greeted with warm sympathy in the eyes of her future self. "Let's just say…that I figured out a way to see the outcome, and I am certain. Things have to change. Living your life to make others happy is an insult to all the people who never got that option."

The sentiment struck a cord, and Hermione was reminded of what those who had died in the war, their families, would give to be able to go fix all that had gone wrong.

Swallowing, she nodded slowly. "What do I have to do?"

"First," she pulled her wand out of the pocket of her dark blue robes, "I need you do something extremely important. I need you to make an Unbreakable Vow."

Something in Hermione snapped, and she stood up with all the fury she possessed in her body, shaking. "I can't believe you would-" She broke off, the anger coursing through her making speech difficult. If this person sitting across from her was truly herself, then Hermione knew how her mind worked and asking for an Unbreakable Vow was a last resort, a way to let her know that she was desperate…but it also meant that she held doubts that her younger self would follow through with the task completely without it.

"I can't, not without knowing why," she said. "And we would need a third person anyway."

Holding up her finger, Future Hermione wordlessly flicked her wand and Neville Longbottom appeared in her living room.

Clearly, this had been thought out more than she had initially thought.

"Neville…"

Having him there, it leant a credence to the situation that hadn't been there previously.

"When Hermione Granger asks a favor, I say yes," he told her, wide grin on his familiar face.

Reluctantly, because she was still a bundle of nerves, but without the niggling worries that it was just a harebrained impulse, she extended her arm, wrapping her fingers around the other woman's wrist.

"Promise," said the other Hermione," that whatever it takes, whatever the cost, you will make sure that Fred Weasley doesn't die."

Hermione's heart stuttered, and her stomach dropped. Fred? Saving Fred was going to fix what was wrong in her life? Going back in time, presumably, and altering an event that had shaped the lives of every single person she knew in the wizarding world for the last three years? Her head began to spin, the headache that had been threatening to hit her earlier settling into a hard throbbing at the base of her skull.

Two sets of eyes were fixed on her, and she gulped, her throat constricting tightly. "Before I do," she said, "I need you to answer one question."

The face so like her own went stony, mouth set and eyes cold. "I won't tell you what will change."

She shook her head. "I wasn't going to ask you that. I want to know why you came back to now, to me at this age. Wouldn't it make more sense to warn me when I was younger?"

Exchanging a glance with Neville, her older self took a deep breath and began to speak. "This was when I made a decision that I've begun to realize was a mistake. But I can't take it back. It would hurt too many people, so I have to undo it before it ever happens. If the same events unfold…I'll have to accept that it was supposed to happen."

A cold chill swept over her body, and Hermione closed her eyes, wanting it all to be some horrible dream. But it wasn't. And when she opened her eyes to see the faces of herself and one of her oldest friends looking back at her, she knew that there was no way to just wish this all away.

"Hermione," Neville said softly, "I know its hard, but you have to trust us on this. I've seen you in the future." He glanced over at the Hermione from his time before returning his attention to her. "You're not happy, and you should be. If anybody deserves to be happy, its you. And there's a way-fix what went wrong."

She wanted to tell him that a lot of people weren't happy all the time, that things could get better. Mostly she wanted t say that it was unfair, and selfish, to change so many lives just to suit her own purposes. What if everyone did that? The injustice of it all hit her, and she opened her mouth to say as much but clamped it shut upon seeing the hope and affection in Neville's eyes. Not matter what, Hermione knew that as much as Neville respected her, cared for her, he wouldn't do something so huge without a good reason behind it.

Older Hermione nodded, resigned to what had to be done, she squared her shoulders and again asked her younger self to promise. "You want to make things better? It's simple; save Fred Weasley."

"Okay."

It wasn't like her. She was never so reckless, so illogical. But something in the eyes and voices of the two people in front of her made her see that they believed what they were saying, and she couldn't help but be moved by what that meant.

Besides, there had been times in the past when spontaneity worked out pretty well for her.

Neville touched his wand to their joined hands, a thick swirl of smoke encircling their grasp as Hermione vowed to do whatever it took to prevent Fred Weasley from dying, whatever the cost.

…0…

Hermione realized that she had, in essence, been duped.

No sooner than the words of acquiescence had slipped out of her mouth she felt a jolt, akin to a portkey, and swayed to a stop on her unsteady feet in a scene of absolute chaos. Screams and yells filled the air, the smells of magic and fear and panic tingeing the air around her, cloying and clinging to her body the second she had control over her faculties again.

She was back at the battle, seeing all the things that plagued her nightmares alive and tangible all around her.

"Hermione!"

Ron was shaking her arm, pulling her in the direction of the bathroom where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was. "Are you alight? You look a bit peaked."

She shook her head, not quite believing that her future self and Neville had sent her back in time, into her seventeen year old body, to relieve this horror.

It was enough to make her consider hexing Neville.

Another time, maybe.

A flash of blonde caught her eye, and Hermione grabbed Luna by the arm as she was sweeping by her. "Luna, go with Ron to the Chamber, help him. I need to-I have to do something." She couldn't tell them, couldn't give herself away. Ron was gaping at her like she had just told him she was jumping over to the other side, but Luna merely shrugged and tugged him off in the direction the bathroom. Ron tossed her a parting glance over his shoulder, still accusatory, and more than a bit worried. The desire to go with him, to follow through on the events she knew were to come raged through her like anarchy, streaking along just in front of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach of what else was going to happen if she didn't stop it. And if she didn't, it wasn't even going to matter.

Standing in the middle of the mayhem, she racked her brain, trying to think and piece together the events she had already lived through once, and remember where Fred was.

And then it hit her. "Percy!" She dashed off, knowing that Percy had to be making his way into Hogwarts right then, if he hadn't already, and that he and the rest of the Weasley family would be heading into the Great Hall. Hermione dashed around a group of younger students being lead up to the Room of Requirement and on to safety, fighting her way through the crowd until she saw a group of red heads assembled in a clump just inside the entrance. Kingsley and Lupin were speaking to them, and then Fred and George broke off from the group, heading towards the main hallway.

Harry caught her elbow as she ran after them, Ron and Luna with their arms full of Basilisk fangs beside him. "Hermione-Ron said you just ran off. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She lost sight of Fred and George as they darted around a corner, wands drawn. "I just have something I have to do." She started off after the twins again, but Harry's hand around her wrist stopped her in her tracks.

"Hermione, you're worrying me here."

"Yeah," Ron added, "this is no time to run off all half-cocked like Harry and me."

Somewhere deep inside Hermione's seemed to shudder, and she remembered just why she had always held Ron firmly in her mind and her heart, and just why she couldn't stay with him. "Ron, Harry-"

"We have to get the diadem," Harry reminded her, and she felt like an idiot for forgetting something so vital. Saving Fred couldn't be the catalyst for allowing Voldemort to win. It just couldn't.

Licking her lips, she made a split second decision, fishing through the memories of the same night and realizing that she still had some time. "Let's go."

They ran off, Luna alongside them, until Crabbe and Goyle, and then Malfoy showed up like clockwork, everything playing out exactly the way it was in her memory, right up until the sounds of a duel filled the corridor and she knew, _knew_, what was happening.

Fred and Percy backed into view, both of them exchanging spell after spell with two hooded Death Eaters, one of whom of course turned out to be Thicknesse. The fur of them rushed forward to help, ducking the streaks of light, until Percy began to speak, his resignation hanging on the air.

One second, no time to think about it.

A Death Eater that Hermione couldn't see fully raised his wand, and the light exploded above his head. With no time to think, Hermione lunged and her body collided with another, the two of them tumbling a few feet away as the world around them went to pieces.

Coughing the dust away, Hermione pushed herself up off of Fred, swiping her debris splattered hair away from her face to see that Fred was gazing up at her in astonishment.

"Bloody hell, Granger. You just saved my life."

The tightness in her chest loosened and she felt like she could breathe again. "Yeah," she said, "I guess I did."

"NO!"

Ron's shout drew their attention, and the tightness returned, constricting tightly about Hermione's lungs and heart. She turned, seeing the horrible scene she feared playing out in front of her.

Ron knelt on the stone floor, clinging to his older brother's lifeless body with tears of rage and grief streaking down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the coating of dirt and dust that had coated them all in the explosion. Luna was beside him, her hand on his arm, speaking in quiet tones as Harry tried to pull him away.

Hermione turned her face up to Fred, and chills ran up the length of her spine. He stood beside her, immobile, white as death. In her mind, Hermione recalled that Fred's eyes had always been so full of mischief and fun. But now the sparkle was gone, and all she could see was the blank disbelief of what he was seeing. She touched his hand gently, and he turned his palm over, wrapping her cold fingers in his own larger, warmer ones.

No matter the consequences, that's what Hermione had agreed to when she'd made the Unbreakable Vow and promised to do anything to save Fred from the fate that she had just, unknowingly, forced his brother into.

Tears spilling over her cheeks, Hermione helped Luna gather up the Basilisk fangs while Fred went to help Harry move Percy's body out of the way of further harm.

There was still a battle left to be won, and a great evil to destroy, and the fear in her stomach was no less than the first time it had all happened.

The only difference being that this time was that Hermione was going to know that Harry _was_ going to win, she knew it.

Just like she knew that she was going to have to go on with the rest of her life with the knowledge that, inadvertently, she had cause Percy's death.

How was she going to live with that?

Glancing back at Fred behind her, she caught his eye and held it, running over and over and over in her head that she had done this for a reason.

She only hoped that she would find out just what that reason was.

…0…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the gap, I made the mistake of signing up for apocabigbang over at LJ, and I thought it'd be easier to just concentrate on that until it was finished. I didn't think it'd be so long.

…0…

"_there were so many of us who would have to live with things done and _

_things left undone that day. things that did not go right, things that seemed _

_okay at the time because we could not see the future. if only we could see _

_the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions."_

_- john green, looking for alaska_

…0…

It all kept going, exactly as before.

She fought. She screamed when Hagrid carried Harry's limp body from the woods. She stood with Luna and Ginny until Bellatrix fell. She cheered when Voldemort was defeated, finally, on the floor of the Great Hall.

If anything, Hermione fought harder this time. Knowing the end that was supposed to happen, she did everything in her power to see that it all happened the right way.

Afterwards though, when the bodies had been removed and the tables were back, Hermione didn't do as before and go sit beside Ron. She didn't hold his hand while he thought about Fred until Harry showed up. Instead, she stood at the back of the hall, just inside the door, watching the Weasley's at the other end of what had once been relegated the Ravenclaw table.

In her head, Hermione remember the grief stricken looks on the faces of the family that she loved so dearly when they had found out about Fred, the mourning of someone so vital. It had changed. Percy had in essence been gone for years already. He had cut himself off from his entire family, not even answering owls bearing Christmas and holiday wishes. And Ron and Charlie were cheated out of a reconciliation with him. They didn't know he had apologized. A heavy ball of guilt and shame settled in her stomach.

So caught up in her own self recriminations, Hermione failed to notice that the cluster of redheads she was so affixed on was one short.

"There you are."

Startled, Hermione whirled around to see Fred leaning over her, trademark mischievous smirk on his face. Her chest tightened inexplicably. No, that wasn't entirely true. She knew why her breath refused to catch, why her pulse quickened looking up at him.

It felt almost like a dream; Fred, alive and well, in front of her. For the last three years of her life, Hermione had lived with the memory of him dying right in front of her. But that had all changed. Because she was selfish and curious, and desperate to fix that unknown something that was so wrong in her life.

Because she had, for once, acted without thinking it all the way through first.

"I've been looking all over for you," Fred told her. "Are you hiding back here or what?"

Hermione frowned, which prompted Fred to grin at her until she rolled her eyes. "I'm not hiding."

"Uh huh."

Her lips pursed. She had forgotten just how infuriating he could be. "Why exactly were you looking for me?"

His already impossibly large smile somehow broadened even more. Lowering his head closer to hers, Fred dropped his voice so low there was no way anyone but her could hear it. "You don't have to look so suspicious you know."

It took most of the strength she had left not to laugh. Levity in such a moment was so beyond inappropriate. And even though she couldn't dispel her relief at having succeeded in saving Fred, she also couldn't ignore the tremor of guilt running underneath her skin, reminding her constantly of Percy's death.

"Well, some habits can be hard to break," she told him in all seriousness.

The corners of Fred's lips twitched precariously close to a smile, and then he shook his head, his face sobering. "Listen, Hermione, I just wanted to thank you. For what you did."

Emotion rioted in her chest, the conflict swirling from the pit of her stomach up through her heart and all the way into her throat, burning. Speech was difficult, but she managed, to her amazement, to look him in the eye and speak without her voice cracking. "I'm glad you're okay."

Just then she was swooped down upon and squeezed within an inch of her life.

Normally, Hermione would find cause for alarm in the compromise of her breathing, but in this case she knew exactly what it was that was cutting off her air supply; Molly Weasley was hugging her tighter than she had ever been hugged before.

"Mum," Fred said, amused voice betraying him, "don't suffocate her."

Pulling back, Molly took Hermione's face between her hands. The tears in the older woman's eyes caused Hermione's stomach to knot in guilt. She had come back to save the Weasley's the pain of losing a son, not to ensure it all over again with a different child.

"Oh, Hermione," she gasped, voice heavy with tears, "Ron told me what you did, saving Fred like that." Pulling her son in by his hand, Molly shook her head before speaking again, a few more tears slipping down over the curves of her cheeks. "There aren't words to thank you enough. I don't know what I would have done if-" A choked sob clogged up her words, at which time Hermione finally allowed the tears she herself had been holding at bay to be released. Molly pulled them both close, and Hermione found herself with her side pressed tightly against Fred, her arm laid inch by inch aside his.

Over the shoulder of someone Hermione considered to be a second mother, Hermione saw Ron with his eyes trained on her. More specifically, her and his mother and his older brother, who's life she had saved earlier. Confusion swam in his blue eyes as he took in the scene. Confusion and anger, more than a little grief, and relief.

Hermione hadn't known that Ron was capable of so many simultaneous emotions.

It was a little unsettling.

…0…

The Burrow was unnaturally quiet that night. Just as she remembered.

Hermione tossed in her bed in Ginny's room, restless, sleep alluding her. The last time, she had finally passed out just before dawn, on the floor of Ron's room with him on one side of her and Harry on the other.

It was different the second time, in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Ron seemed to be avoiding her. The first time this all had happened, she had just kissed Ron for the first time, and he had needed her because Fred was gone and he didn't know how to handle that.

They didn't get that kiss, that one prefect moment she envisioned telling her grandchildren about someday; a romantic fantasy in the midst of unspeakable fear.

So along with causing Percy's death, Hermione had also cheated herself and Ron out of that minute seven years in the making.

And now it was Percy, who Ron hadn't spoken to for so long, hadn't had a chance to forgive, that was ripped away, right in front of him.

For all the blame she was placing on herself, Hermione couldn't imagine the kind of guilt that Ron was feeling.

Frustrated, Hermione tossed the covers back and crept out of the room as silently as she could. She tip-toed down the stairs, figuring that some time in front of the fire to think might help her work things out in her head, but somebody had beaten her to it.

"What are you doing up?"

Harry shrugged, poking at the fire idly to stir the ashes up. "Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same." She settled down on the floor beside him and leaned her head onto his shoulder. She could feel the slight movement of his shoulder as he breathed, and it helped. Harry had more often than not been her reason for doing any number of things since she was a child. He was her constant.

Hermione may have been out of time and place, but she wasn't alone.

A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "How's Ron?"

Sighing, Harry takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes. "He's… angry. At himself I think."

"For not getting a chance to reconcile with Percy before-" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Tears burned behind her eyes, and she sniffed and blinked to try to keep them at bay.

"Yeah."

…0…

_Two weeks later…_

Hermione walked down the steps of her parent's house in London, breathing in the air of an early summer night. She loved the time of year, just before it became too hot.

Ever since McGonagall had retrieved her parents from Australia and restored their memories, Hermione had been staying with them, explaining everything about her life at Hogwarts and about Harry, Voldemort, Death Eaters. All of it.

Except that she had been sent back in time by her future self to save a boy they didn't even know only to have his brother die in his place. She figured that was best left omitted.

It had become a ritual for her to walk to the park down the street in the evenings to think.

Perhaps it was naïve, but Hermione had figured that once her task - saving Fred - was completed, that she would be sent back to her own time. Being here; after the war, eighteen years old again, it wasn't her life anymore. She was twenty-one, with a job and long term boyfriend and her own flat. She had a life. That she had effectively been ripped out of.

What would that be like? Hermione had no idea. Being in her future that she had built for herself after the war with Fred there but not Percy… she couldn't wrap her head around it.

And one thing in particular kept niggling at her; why hadn't the other Hermione just gone back to save Fred herself? Why send her younger self?

What could be so different in two and a half years that she felt she couldn't change things on her own?

Hermione didn't know, but she was going to find out.

…0…

Standing in her childhood bedroom, Hermione weighed her options. In front of her was her school trunk that she had taken with her to Hogwarts every year, open, with much of what she had brought home with her at the end of her sixth year still inside.

Only a handful of Hermione's class had gone back to Hogwarts after the war. The few that had been there during term hadn't finished, understandably, and chose to study at home for NEWTS, as had a lot that hadn't been allowed or able to go to back at all. Hermione and Neville had been the only ones from Gryffindor to opt for a full year back.

But the second time around, Hermione found it hard to pack up her things and get ready to head off for school. Headmistress McGonagall had sent her an owl earlier that day, just as she remembered, telling her that she was welcome to return to school, along with all the options if she chose not to come back.

Not finishing school was never an option for Hermione before. Not even for one second. School was what she loved, what she excelled at. She loved to learn.

But Hermione had redone her last year. She went back, did the essays, wrote the exams, cheered at the Quidditch matches - all the little things she had missed the year she spent on the run with Ron and Harry, and worried she would never get a chance to do again. Doing it for a second time, if she truly would not be going back to her own time, wasn't as welcome an idea.

Before she thought better of it, Hermione picked through her trunk for a quill and ink, and wrote back the response that she wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year.


	3. Chapter 3

"_There are always alternatives." _

_Mr. Spock, Star Trek: TOS_

…0…

To say that it surprised _everyone _that Hermione opted not to return to school was an understatement.

She felt a little sad, the day she went with the Weasley's to King's Cross, and said goodbye to Ginny and Luna and Neville. The four of them had some good times that last year. A deep chasm in her heart opened up. That year… it was precious to her, akin but not entirely the same as her first year when she met Ron and Harry and for once in her life had actual _friends_.

Harry turned to her and Ron, the shapes of Mr. and Weasley, Mrs. Longbottom, and Andromeda Tonks with her arms full of Teddy, disappearing into the dispersing crowd. "So… what now?"

Hermione looks at Ron, who shrugs and averts his eyes just a little quicker than she would have expected. Her heart sank. Ron hadn't been the same around her since the battle. On the all too brief occasions that she could get him to look at her for more than ten seconds she could have almost sworn that she saw the ghost of herself dashing down the Hogwarts hallway flashing out at her in the blue of Ron's eyes.

So she stopped trying. It would just take some time to get things back on track.

And in the meantime… she had months of free time and no way to fill it. NE.W.T.S. weren't until the end of the school term, and she would have to wait along with everyone else in her year. She could study, of course, but most of what she remembered from sitting the exam told her that most of the spells and charms were simple, and she used several of them on a regular basis. So that left her with months and months of empty days.

Harry and Ron, she knew what they were going to do. After Mrs. Weasley insisted that Ron wasn't going to waste his time off doing nothing and insisting he find a job, he and Harry had set out to find something, only to be constantly bombarded by the press at every turn. (Hermione recalled sitting in front of the Gryffindor fireplace with Ginny and Neville while Harry and Ron groused about their total lack of privacy anymore, feeling both guilty and relieved that being at school shielded her from that type of invasion.) Eventually, they decided to just travel about a bit, bouncing around between Weasley relatives and cheap Muggle motels and even staying with the Delacours at their vineyard, in Marseilles getting hopelessly tipsy and staining their clothes with grape juice.

Hermione had always been just a tad jealous that she had been at Hogwarts, up to her eyes in essays while they traipsed about Europe like Nomads. She'd thought they all had enough of never staying in the same place for more than one night, but apparently not.

_I could go with them now_, she thought. _I could go traveling with them if I wanted to_.

It was tempting. Very tempting. But at the same time… they were only gone a few weeks, just long enough for the fervor surrounding the three of them to fade enough for them to get jobs. Hogsmeade weekends were always a treat at school, but they became even more so when it meant seeing Ron and Harry who always managed to get off work at Spintwitches just in time.

"Don't know about you two," Ron said, "but I'm starving."

They decide to go to the Leaky Cauldron for something to eat, and then wander around Diagon Alley for a bit.

After they eat, they run into Fred and George outside Gringott's.

"Who let you lot in here?" George asks, wide smile on his face. "This is a place for respectable, grown up people."

"Then what are you doing here?" Ron deadpans.

The five of them walk towards the twin's shop, while Ron recounted the horrific decree his mother had laid down about him getting a job. "What am I supposed to do? I don't even have my N.E.W.T.S. yet, so it's not like I can get anything good."

Fred chuckled. "Fortescue's is about to reopen. Maybe they need a busboy."

"Yeah," George chimed in. "I heard Mrs. Fortescue is going to have all the employees were bowties and hats now."

Turning a faint shade of pink, Ron muttered for both of them to shut up.

…0…

When Harry and Ron decided they wanted to browse around Quality Quidditch Supplies, Hermione told them she was going to go over to Flourish and Blott's and would meet up with them later on.

As she browsed through the new releases, Hermione noticed a few people throwing covert looks at her when they thought she wouldn't notice. But she did, and after a few moments, grew so annoyed that she attempted to storm out - only to run directly into a help wanted sign floating around the shop. She waved it away in annoyance, and the sound of a chuckle came from behind her.

Fred was grinning smugly when she turned around.

Standing up as straight as she could, she narrowed her eyes and said, "It's not very nice to go sneaking up on people."

He raised one shoulder and dropped it back down in a lazy shrug. "It's also not very nice to scold your elders like schoolchildren Miss Granger."

Hermione snorted. Fred being her 'elder' was a ridiculous concept for many reasons. Mostly because he was Fred, and everything about his personality fairly screamed of immaturity, but also because, in her head, she was a year older than he was.

Still smiling, Fred looked at the sign that was continuing to hover behind Hermione's shoulder. "Seems you've made a friend."

She turned around. Having read up on the subject, Hermione knew that magical help wanted signs tended to follow people that they believed to be more attuned to the job than others. The idea wasn't the worst one she'd ever heard…

"That the plan then?" He asked, turning a random book on a nearby table over in his hands. "The three of you, get job until N.E.W.T.S., move into Grimmauld Place, be joined at the hip forever."

"Said the twin," she retorted. To her amazement, Fred laughed. An honest to goodness, deep down laugh.

Quirking an eyebrow, he regarded her as if seeing her for the first time. "Good one, Granger."

…0…

When she told her parents about her plan that night, they looked at her as if they didn't quite know who she was. But that was to be expected. Having just voluntarily given up her last year of school was out of character enough for her, but the idea of getting a job and a flat on a magical street accessible only through an out of the way pub was entirely out of left field.

"Well…" her mother began, looking to be at an utter loss for what to say, "If that's what you want to do, honey, but what about your school work?"

"I can keep up on my own." Taking a deep breath, she speaks slowly - in hopes that she won't blurt out the fact that she's already lived on her own for two years. "I need something to do with my time."

"But do you really have to move out?" Her father looked more sad than Hermione remembered about the idea of her getting her own place.

Part of her liked being back with her parents again. When she left Hogwarts she had spent so much time at the Burrow that it really wasn't that big of a difference when she moved out entirely. But this time around she had been there for months, and after so long… her parents must have gotten used to having her around.

"I won't be far," she said. Diagon was only twenty minutes from her parent's neighborhood, and she could be there in seconds if need be. "I just… it feels right somehow."

Resigned, they both took a deep breath and nodded.

…0…

Hermione's flat was in the building that had once housed Whizz Hard Book's Publishing. But it was so damaged during the attacks of the war that the company had merged with Obscurus Books and moved into their larger building. When she moved in the first time, the owner of the building had told her that some people were still wary about Diagon Alley after such violence had happened there, and her flat had been empty since it was converted from an office around the same time that she had returned to Hogwarts.

After a few failed attempts to get her to move into Grimmauld Place, Harry and Ron had finally relented and helped her bring her stuff in and unpack boxes.

"Can't we just magic this stuff in place?" Ron whined, as he held up one end of the sofa. "All that time with Muggles has made you regress."

"Honestly, Ron," she snapped, "its not going to kill you. Just move a little to the left."

She heard her mother chuckle from the kitchen where she was 'organizing' Hermione's cutlery drawer and washing the new dishes she'd insisted on buying.

"Knock, knock."

She turned around and saw Mrs. Weasley and the twins standing in her doorway. They'd left it open to bring in the furniture and had never gotten around to closing it. She smiled, motioning for them to come in.

"We're here to help," Mrs. Weasley told her, handing her a large covered casserole dish. "What needs to be done?"

"Magic," Ron muttered.

A few minutes and a good scolding from his mother later, Ron had helped Harry and Fred arrange all the furniture in her living room and kitchen while she and George unpacked and put away all her book and her mother and Mrs. Weasley got the kitchen and the washroom in order.

Collapsing on the squishy armchair that had been sitting unused in her father's study for as long as she could remember, George stretched his fingers out and grimaced. You have entirely too many books, Hermione. You can't have read all those."

Her mother walked by, putting on her jacket. "She has three more boxes at home."

George groaned.

…0…

Hermione lay in bed that night, feeling like things were almost normal. After being out of her flat for so long, it felt fantastic to be back. It felt like home.

…0…

By lunchtime the next day, Hermione had managed to get groceries, a Gringott's account, a haircut, and the job at Flourish and Blott's.

After that, she really had nothing to do. It hadn't taken that long to put things away from the places where her Mum and Mrs. Weasley had put them, and she'd gotten her bedroom in order. It was shockingly easier to do the second time around, without all the debating of what would look best where.

So she decided to go for a walk. A few of the businesses had opted not to reopen after the war, and there were several new ones that had sprung up in their places. She was long used to them, but seeing the other people out and about discovering them for the first time was a change. It made her smile, and that was something she was still getting used to doing again.

She stopped in at Madame Malkin's and bought some new robes, and then on to the London branch of Scrivenshaft's for some quills. She was thinking about heading over to Eeylop's to buy an owl… Harry had given her a baby owl as a house warming present in her own time that she thought was darling at first (until it dug its nail into her leg hard enough to leave scars and she'd sent him to Hagrid), but this time around he had given her a cookbook. "I remember my Aunt Petunia giving them for presents," he'd explained with a blush. "Said practical was better than flashy."

Eeylop's was across the street from the twin's shop, and as she passed she saw Fred arranging a display in the window. It was still a bit surreal, to say the least, that Fred was alive and well, going on as he always had. And moments when it would hit her again she would get an ache in her chest remembering the price that had been paid for him to still be there.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Fred looked up and waved. He motioned for her to stay where she was and disappeared from sight. A few seconds later he walked out the front door, his magenta robes even brighter in the direct sunlight than they were in the store lights. He must have noticed her squint, for he unlatched his robe and shrugged it off. His jeans and long sleeve t shirt weren't as hard on the eyes.

"Hey," he said. "What are you doing this fine morning, wandering around, ogling random shop owners through windows?"

A small laugh escaped her. "I'm thinking about getting an owl."

Fred nodded. Extracting two pieces of candy from his pocket, he offered her one and grinned when she looked at it dubiously. "It's just toffee, promise." He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth. "See?"

So she took it. But the guarded look refused to leave her face.

"You don't have to look so suspicious," he said. "I'm not trying to poison you or anything." Falling into step with her, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "So… how are things?"

Hermione shrugged. "Okay. I got the job at Flourish and Blott's."

Chuckling, he nodded. "Of course you did. You've only read, what - 80% of the inventory?"

She rolled her eyes but said nothing.

"I see you also cut your hair," he replied, offhand, and waved to someone passing by on the opposite side of the street.

One hand flew up to the ends of her hair self consciously. Guys didn't usually notice things like haircuts. At least, not in her experience. As much as she loved Harry and Ron, they were so oblivious to that sort of thing she would probably have had to shave her head to get them to notice her hair.

Another chuckle escaped Fred's throat. She had forgotten just how easily he could laugh.

"Last time I saw you, you looked a little scraggly. Not the Hermione Granger who used to threaten to send me to detention," he quipped. "Not the kind of thing a bloke forgets."

After that, they fell into easy conversation. He explained to her, in great detail, about the new contraption he and George were working on, taking great delight in her scandalized expression. She told him how much she missed her parents - more than she thought she would to be truthful. The subject of Ron and Harry's disastrous attempts to find jobs came up, followed by Molly's teary moping about Ron moving out of the Burrow and into Grimmauld Place with Harry.

Finally, just as Eeylop's came into view, Fred broached the subject of Hogwarts. "What's that all about? I thought you bookworms thrived on academia and all that."

Remarking on her surprise that he even knew the word 'academia', Hermione looked off into the distance, where the skyline of London proper was just visible over the walls surrounding Diagon Alley from Muggle sight, trying to gather her thoughts. It wasn't as if she could tell him that she had finished school two years earlier and then got zapped back in time by a deceitful future version of herself. "It just didn't feel… right," she managed at last, hearing how lame an explanation that was even to herself.

"Fair enough."

Eyes narrowing, Hermione looked the boy in front of her up and down, trying to ascertain some proof that this actually was Fred Weasley standing in front of her, and not some magical creature or an Imperiused variety. But he blinked back at her, bemused smirk playing along the edges of his mouth. She shook her head. This entire situation was making her much too mistrustful. "You wanna know something, Fred?"

He grinned. "You think I'm sexy, don't you?"

An elderly pair of witches walking by looked at them appalled and shocked at hearing Fred's remark. Face heating in embarrassment, Hermione shoved at his shoulder and stalked into the store alone, leaving him bent over in laughter on the street.

Definitely the same old Fred.

…0…

_Yikes, filler. My apologies. _


	4. Chapter 4

"_life is like a game of cards. the hand you are dealt _

_is determinism; the way you play it is free will" _

_- Jawaharial Nehru_

…0…

_One week later…_

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Hermione pushed her hair back off her face and stretched her arm out as far as she could manage. Avery, a hopelessly accident prone wizard who reminded her a lot of Seamus in their first years at Hogwarts, had been attempting to demonstrate for her some new spell he claimed to have invented and ending up blowing himself through one of the store room shelves, and her wand somehow ended up on top of another by the front door.

While the only other employee working that day took Avery to St. Mungo's, Hermione was left to mind the shop by herself, which would be much easier after she managed to retrieve her wand.

Her fingers brushed the tip and she grappled for it, pushing herself further towards the edge.

But all she managed to do was knock it in the opposite direction and the bell over the door signaling a customer startled her, making her shriek and her hand slipped, sending her tumbling off the ladder and directly into the arms of an equally surprised Fred Weasley.

"Well this is different," he quipped, looking down into her flushed face.

Harry, Ron, and George standing behind him in the doorway looked on in amusement as a flustered Hermione was set on her feet. She regarded Fred, who was entirely too smug for his own good, before blowing her hair away from her face. "Good catch."

He grinned. "I always thought so."

All four boys chuckled and she rolled her eyes. "Did you come in here just to torment me while I'm working? I do have things to do."

Looking pointedly at the empty shop, Ron looked at her as though she were nuts. "Yeah, you look real busy, Hermione."

"I was trying to get my wand," she pointed to the shelf, explaining about Avery and the spell mishap. With a grin, Harry took out his own wand and got it down for her.

"So what are you all doing here? There's no crisis going on, is there?" She asked it because it sounded like something she would ask. Hermione knew perfectly well why they were there. It was time for Harry and Ron to leave, and she figured they had come to let her know.

And she was right. They told her about the disastrous job interviews all over Diagon Alley and how they'd had to duck the Prophet photographers at every turn.

Whenever they came too close for Hermione's liking, she threatened to curse them. They promptly disappeared after that. Harry and Ron obviously hadn't stumbled onto that strategy yet though.

Then they asked her to come with them.

Hermione looked between them, their hopeful expressions hitting her square in the stomach. She loved these boys. She would do anything in the world for them, and they all knew it. Then she thought of herself at Hogwarts without them, surrounded by people and so lonely knowing they weren't there. There was nothing else in the world she had wanted than to have them with her again, but she'd stayed because it was the right thing to do.

Back then, she would have gone with them if possible. Now… she had lived through it, and come out none the worse for wear. She had been away from them for the better part of a year and then they had all gone about with their lives, still seeing each other but living apart, living their own lives.

If she was really supposed to do things differently, she should go with them. And yet, something inside her told Hermione that it was the wrong thing to do. Whatever tiny fracture had occurred between the two of them when Ron left her and Harry in the tent that night healed while they were gone. They came home better than ever. She couldn't intrude on that.

So she took a deep breath and offered up a small smile. "Maybe next time."

…0…

_November_

The snow fell in a light powder as Hermione walked towards her building. It had been a long day. Christmas was just a little over six weeks away and it seemed as books were the hot gift item. Normally that would delight her, but she'd had to stay an extra hour and her feet were killing her. Not to mention that she hadn't gotten the chance to finish her lunch and was starving.

"Hermione!"

Turning, she saw Fred making his way through the crowd towards her, a heavy parcel in his hands.

He came to a stop in front of her, white flakes sticking to his hair. "Glad I caught you."

"Fred, where's your coat?" she demanded. He was wearing his magenta robes over his usual clothes, but nothing to guard against the frigid temperature. "Or your gloves? You'll get sick running around in the cold like that."

"Oh, you know what it does to me when you get all bossy." He gave her a cheeky grin that made her face glow scarlet. He raised the box in his hands slightly - just enough to draw her attention to it. "Mum was just in the shop, dropping off her usual load of food. She made me promise to see to it that you got your share tonight."

Hermione peered over the edge of the box, similar to the ones she received on a regular basis, (Molly seemed to think that they were all in danger of starvation out of her sight) spying several covered dishes. Each one was giving off a thick aroma that made her mouth water. She inhaled, wanting nothing more than to tear into it right there on the street.

Fred must have noticed, for when she looked up at him he was looking at her with a smile of bemused indulgence. "Hungry?"

"You have no idea." She made to take the box from him, but he twisted at the waist, angling it out of her reach.

"Mum would have my head if I let you carry this huge thing up to your flat," he told her. "Lead the way."

He followed her up the stairs and she held the door to her flat open for him to carry the box inside. He sat it on the table, groaning a little when he turned back around and rubbing at his lower back. He caught her eye and smiled. "Left my wand at the shop. Otherwise I wouldn't have hauled that monster."

Hermione smiled. "The effort is much appreciated. Thanks, Fred."

"No problem." Reaching over the rim of the cardboard, he peeled the lid off one bowl and popped a small potato in his mouth. "Any time you need a packhorse… call George."

"Ha ha," she replied dryly.

The snow was coming down harder outside, the soft flakes of before giving way to fat, wet dollops that built up quickly on her window ledge. She stared out her dark window, seeing the lights of the surrounding buildings backlighting the fall, making it seem to glow.

Harry and Ron were in Greece. She had gotten an owl from Harry that morning, telling about the beaches and how blue the water looked against the white houses and white sand.

It may not have been the sand, but Hermione thought the white view outside her window was no less beautiful.

Fred came over and stood behind her, peering into the emptying streets of Diagon Alley. "Sickle for your thoughts, Granger."

A small smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "They're not worth that much." Pulling off her hat and gloves, she set to unbuttoning her coat. "I think I'm going to dive into that box. Care to join me?"

Looking surprised, Fred stared down at her as if he wasn't quite sure who he was seeing before a leering grin broke across his face. "Are you propositioning me?"

A wave of indignation crashed over Hermione, followed by a heavier swell of annoyance. Did he always have to be so flippant about everything? "Are you capable of being serious - even for two seconds?"

Fred's ever present smile slipped. He frowned down at Hermione, the gesture making him look even taller than he was and he already towered over her. A thick tension filled the air around them, and the silence of the room intensified until Hermione could almost swear that she heard it.

And then, just as quickly as it disappeared, his smile was back in place. He was again the same boy who used to live to pull pranks on elderly caretakers and unassuming first years without even thinking about it. "Where's the fun in being serious?"

"Perhaps it would show people that you actually have a little depth," she blurted out before she could stop it.

Again, as Fred's lost its jovial mask, replaced by a stunned expression. And, unless she was mistaken, a tiny flash of hurt flickered in his eyes. His features school, and he sits down on the edge of the sofa arm, and Hermione could all but see the cogs turning, round and round, inside his head. His lips pursed, and his head bobbed down and back up again. "Ouch."

All at once Hermione is overcome by a staggering feeling of guilt that made her hang her head and avert her eyes, trying desperately not to cry. "Fred… I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

He shrugs. "Eh, it's okay." Though he looks the very picture of Weasley twin ease, that signature sparkle in his eye is missing, magnifying her guilt because it is, in fact, her fault. Entirely. A hard, sharp lump lodged in her throat. When she tried to swallow over it the only effects were a painful almost burning sensation and the hot taste of bile behind it.

Eventually Freddie speaks again, just when the awkward silence seemed to manifest into an actual presence, sitting on her sofa and batting its eyes between the two of them like a spectator at Wimbledon, but voice sounds unfamiliar in a way that Hermione doesn't like and is well aware is entirely her fault.

"I better get back to the shop. George tends to get himself into trouble when left to his own devices for too long." His attempt at a breezy tone fell flat, all but landing in a heap on the carpet. "You know how we Wealsey's are."

He started for the door; Hermione caught his wrist of one hand as the other landed on the doorknob. "Fred, I truly am sorry."

She gets a small smile in return. "Don't worry your overstuffed head about it, Hermione." Pulling the door open, he stepped into the hallway and turned back to face her. "It's certainly not the worst thing that's been said to me. In fact, I believe you've said worse to me yourself." He grinned, this time genuine. "Bossiest Prefect I ever saw - especially for a little thing like yourself."

Annoyance twisting her features, Hermione tutted under her breath. "Just so you know, I was planning to ask George as well."

"Sure." Fred gave her a Cheshire cat smile, the glint back in his blue eyes.

The tension gone, Hermione shut the door, forgetting almost at once the harsh words and guilt. Fred had turned the entire situation on his head.

He was good at things like that.

…0…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, first off, if you got this alert and went 'Who the heck is this?'- yes, I changed my username. I don't know how good an idea it was as I've had the other one for like six years or so, and I've used it all over the net, but it was time for a change, so I hope no one got confused.

Secondly, the wait. I am super sorry it's taken me so long. My external hard drive died a very tragic death a few weeks ago, and I lost all my files. Including my fic stuff. So I've had to start over from scratch on everything. I'm getting there, but I'm not sure how regular the updates are going to be.

…0…

"_we share something, i think, you and i. we are _

_both often grossly and most unfairly misunderstood"_

- damien spinelli, general hospital

…0…

A few days passed before Hermione saw Fred again. She rarely walked by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on her way to work, and honestly, there was little reason for her to go into the shop. Certainly she had no pressing need for Pygmy Puffs or Skiving Snackboxes. Other than speaking directly to Fred or George themselves, there was no purpose for her to even go to that area of Diagon Alley.

Still, whenever she walked close enough to the colorful storefront to glimpse Fred through the glass, a faint sense of guilt would swell up in her chest.

He'd played it off, but Hermione could tell that she had indeed hurt his feelings a little with her words - which was never her intention. Fred had just… annoyed her.

Not that it was his fault. She had just taken it out on him and his never serious attitude. As the months had gone on and Hermione still hadn't returned to her own time, she had been getting more and more frustrated in general. Was she really going to have to relive the last three years of her life?

Before she had the chance to think about it further, the door to Flourish and Blott's opened, drawing her eyes up from the inventory checklist she was working on to the lanky frame of the Weasley twin that had been vexing her thoughts.

"Hi," she said, softly, mindful of the customers poring over books in the isle closest to the front. "You shopping?"

Fred looked at her in extreme amusement. "Sadly, no. My intentions are a bit more… personal."

Hermione felt an instant alarm come over her. And it obviously showed on her face, if Fred's chuckle was any indication.

"You really are a suspicious little thing, aren't you?" he quipped, leaning against the front checkout counter. "I didn't mean it that way, but if you're interested…" Fred let his words trail off, his eyebrows waggling for good measure.

She tried to fight off the blush, but it was futile. Glaring up at his overly entertained expression, Hermione cleared her throat and went back to her work. "If you're just trying to get a rise out of me, Fred, you can do it when I'm not on the clock."

"Nah," he waved his hand dismissively. He angled his upper body to face her more forwardly. "As much fun as that is, I've been thinking."

Arching her eyebrow, she leveled a gaze on him that she hoped would convey her thoughts. Fred thinking was either a cause for disbelief, or worry.

Fred pursed his lips, ignoring her look of doubt. "Basically, Hermione, I've been thinking about the other night and I've decided that you and I should be friends."

She was so stunned by his declaration that she missed the mention of their slight tiff, but that didn't prevent her mouth from dropping open. "Fred, we are friends."

He shook his finger at her, making tsking sounds under his breath. "No, Hermione, we're friend_ly_. There's a difference."

"Such as?"

Shrugging, he waved his hands about as he talked, most likely figuring that it would aid his meaning when all it really did was make her worry he would knock over the new display she'd spent the whole morning working on. "We can talk, have a chat, spend small amounts of time together without other people present. But we don't really know each other. You've spent entire summers with my family and honestly, I couldn't even being to guess what your middle name might be."

She frowned. "It's Jean."

"Not the point." He laid his palms flat on the counter and leaned closer to her, realizing they had drawn the attention of a small group of elderly wizards in the first aisle, who were watching them with open interest. "So what do you say, Granger? How about you and me getting to know one another?"

Hermione sighed. She knew Fred, and there was no way he was going to give up on an idea once it really took hold. "Fine."

…0…

"So…" Avery said during cleanup a few nights later, "your friend seems to be stopping by a lot lately."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Her coworkers had all been very interested in the fact that Fred had taken up the habit of dropping by the store a lot in the last week, even bringing George once, so the two of them could become friends. So far they had gotten ice cream, dinner, and spent the previous afternoon just walking around Diagon Alley, chatting about things.

And even though nobody gave her any special treatment, they all knew exactly who Hermione was and were taking a great interest in her sudden social life.

"I've known Fred for years," she said, almost robotically, "I'm friends with his brother."

"Sure." Avery gave her a cheeky grin and moved to take the rubbish out to the bins behind the storeroom.

Sighing, she sat down at the register and let her head fall forward onto the polished wood surface. The whole thing was getting a bit ridiculous. It wasn't anyone's business who she spent her time with after work, or what they did together. She'd seen Harry go through this for years, and to an exorbitant amount, but she never knew just how irritating it could be to have other people think they had the right to know your personal business just because they'd read about you in the Prophet.

As if on cue, Fred appeared at the front window and tapped on the glass. She looked up at him, with his trademark grin in place, and couldn't help but smile in return. Hermione walked over and opened the door only wide enough to talk to him. "You know I can't let you in after we close."

Pouting, Fred leaned against the side of the door frame. "Come on, Hermione, have a heart. It's cold out here."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be out in the snow," she pointed out.

He mulled that over for a few seconds, his face an exaggerated mask of contemplation. "Good point." Shaking a few flakes off his head, he raked a hand through his hair. "George and I are heading over to the Leaky Cauldron with some people. You want to join us?"

The idea of a warm butterbeer did sound pretty good. And it was only a little ways from her building. "Why not?"

"Brilliant." Fred beamed down at her. "I'll see you in a few."

He disappeared down the alley, hands stuffed in his pockets. Hermione shook her head at his retreating back.

…0…

"Hermione!"

George stood up and waved, drawing Hermione's attention the second she walked into the Leaky Cauldron. Unbuttoning her coat, she made her way through the crowd, getting hit all at once with the noise and chaos. Christmas was closing in, and everywhere she looked there were bags and wrapped parcels, which only added to the cramped appearance.

Most of the people that worked at the shop were seated around Fred and George, and she noticed Lee Jordan as well, by the wall behind their table, chatting up a tall blonde girl that she'd seen working the counter at Twilfit & Tattings a few times. But Hermione had a feeling it wasn't going too well, as the witch kept looking over Lee's shoulder at Fred and George.

Seeing her approach, Fred leaned back in his chair to ask the people behind them if he could have the empty chair at their table. He pulled it up right between him and George. With a roll of her eyes, she laid her coat over the back of the chair and sat down.

"How did you ever get a table in here?" she asked, looking around at the sheer size of the crowd that was packed into the pub. Every table was occupied, even if there was only one or two people sitting there, and the bar was three deep at the very least. It seemed as if everyone in Diagon Alley had decided to drop in.

Fred smirked at her. "Charisma."

She snorted, prompting George to crack up on her other side.

Though he looked momentarily offended, Hermione had a feeling that it was mostly a front, especially if his very loud and put upon sigh was anything to go on. "So this is my reward for chivalry, for getting you a seat? Mocking?" He put a hand over his heart, acting wounded, much to the amusement of their entire table.

Before Hermione could retort, someone - who turned out to be Angelina Johnson - stepped up to their table. "Hey, guys." She beamed down at them, snow glistening off her black hair. Her eyes fell on Fred and his stilted display of theatrics. "Fred being chivalrous again?"

That was all it took; the entire table erupted. George laid his head down on his folded arms, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking. Fred himself was a very deep shade of pink under his freckles, but was grinning sheepishly. "Ha, ha," he said dryly. "You want to poke fun of me some more, or do you wanna sit down?"

Angelina shrugged, then her eyebrows rose as George stood and offered her his chair. The blonde had moved on, so Lee stepped closer and the three of them jumped right into a conversation about another of Fred's attempt at gallantry.

He slumped down in his chair, looking extremely affronted.

Feeling a little bad for him, Hermione leaned in and asked him if he felt like walking her home.

"You just got here," he stated, eyebrows drawn together.

"Well if you'd rather stay here while all your employees get an earful about your Hogwarts days then feel free," she said, gathering her coat from the back of the chair.

She could literally see when it all clicked together for him. He stood, putting on his own coat and following her around the table. Lee and Angelina exchanged a look as the two of them passed, and Hermione frowned.

"Granger, you okay?" Fred asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

They headed out in the snow, which was tapering off to a soft dusting. Hermione looked around, loving the way that the old fashioned store fronts looked. It was like being inside of a snow globe. She looked up at Fred as she put her mittens on, and saw him studying her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just, you know, thanks… for that."

"Oh." A light blush warmed her cheeks, and she ducked her head down.

Fred cleared his throat. "Well, since you didn't get anything to drink in there, how about I treat you to the best hot chocolate you've ever had."

She grinned.

Fifteen minutes later they walked out of Fortescue's with the largest hot chocolates available, Fred regaling her with some wild story about him and George trying to invent a temporary mind reading spell they could charm a product with that had somehow ended up in George hanging upside down from the storeroom rafters by his shoelace.

"Fred, there's no such thing as a mind reading potion."

He gave her a cheeky wink. "Not yet."

She rolled her eyes and when she brought them down they landed on Luna sitting at one of the outdoor tables eating a peppermint sundae.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione said cheerily. "Aren't you a little cold out here?"

"Not really," she replied, her normal breathy voice sounding even softer in the hustle and bustle of the holiday shopping. "I quite like the cold. It's less likely that I'll miss the Ice Mites if I stay out here."

"Ice Mites?" Fred repeated. Luna nodded. He tossed Hermione a look and announced he was going to dash back inside for some more whipped cream.

Hermione pulled out the chair across from Luna at the table and dusted it free of snow so she could join her. "I didn't know you were back from Hogwarts."

Taking a bite of her sundae, Luna tipped her head to one side. "The train got in this afternoon." Barely pausing to take a breath, she changed the subject, causing Hermione to choke a little on her hot chocolate. "I didn't know you and Fred were dating."

Coughing, Hermione shook her head. "We're not."

"Oh?" Luna's blonde eyebrows rose up to meet her hairline. "You never usually spend time with just Fred. The break in pattern just made me think-"

"Well, we're not." Hermione felt a flush climb up her cheeks at the harshness in her voice, and from interrupting Luna so rudely. But Luna had a habit of speaking without thinking first - or at least it seemed that way - and Hermione didn't want her telling anyone that she had seen Hermione and Fred out on a date. So she leaned forward, lowering her voice, and said, "Fred and I have simply become better friends lately. That's all."

"All right," Luna replied, taking another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. She seemed to accept the facts as easily as if Hermione were just telling her the day of the week. But then, just as Hermione was about to stand up and see just where Fred had gotten off to, Luna added, "That's a good thing though, isn't it?"

Hermione stopped dead. "It is?"

Luna nodded, her radish earrings bobbing amongst the curtain of her hair. "I imagine Ron would be in a right state if you started dating his brother. He's not the most understanding sort. Though he can be rather nice," she added, almost an afterthought.

Just then Fred stepped back out of the restaurant and walked over to where the two of them were sitting. Hermione looked up at him, and just for a second her vision blurred, and instead of the Fred she'd come to know over the last few weeks she saw the still, pale body of a friend cut down on the edge between boyhood and a manhood, and Ron crying, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

And just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

…0…

The day before Christmas Eve, Harry and Ron walked into Flourish and Blott's, looking far too tan for Englishmen, and both grinning ear to ear. She dashed out from behind the counter and hugged them both until they had to beg her to let go.

"When did you get back?" she asked, momentarily forgetting that she knew all of this.

"This morning," Harry said. "We went over to the Burrow for a bit, and we would have come to see you sooner but Mrs. Weasley insisted we stay and eat."

"I'm sure that was a hardship," she quipped. It had only been three months, but it felt as if she hadn't seen either of them in forever. Had they always been that much taller than her?

Ron, raking a hand over the scraggly stubble on his chin, yawned. "How long are you here for?"

She looked at her watch. "About another hour."

They told her they were going to walk over to see Fred and George, and then they'd meet her at the Three Broomsticks for lunch.

When she finally made it, they were all there, apparently talking about some mountain in Africa that Ron had apparated himself to by accident and then dropped his wand in a puddle of quicksand coming down the side. It wasn't as crowded as usual, and his loud voice carried across the room. As she made her way toward the table, she got jostled by the crowd and knocked into Angelina outside the washrooms.

The older girl turned and smiled. "This is becoming habit, huh?"

Hermione shrugged. "I guess so. You here for lunch?"

Nodding, Angelina inclined her head towards the table Hermione was headed for. "I was in the twin's shop when Harry and Ron came in. They invited me along."

That wasn't much of a surprise. Hermione knew that the twins and Harry had always gotten along well with Angelina when they played Quidditch, and that she and Fred had dated off and on. And it was always nice not to be the only girl around.

The two walked to the table, taking the empty seats at one end. They caught Ron at the tale end of his story, and all four guys broke into uproarious laughter just as she and Angelina sat down.

She leaned over to Hermione. "Guess we missed quite a story."

"Eh," Fred waved his hand. "I don't think you ladies would have been too interested in it anyway."

Angelina smirked. "Looks like Fred's trying to be chivalrous again."

Both Hermione and George started laughing, Harry and Ron exchanged a confused look.

Noticing their mystification, George managed to calm down long enough to explain. "We were in here a few nights ago, and Fred was trying to convince Hermione of his more gentlemanly nature."

A sour look came over Ron's face. He glared between his brother and his friend. "What's that mean?"

"Oh, don't look so put out, Ron," George said. "Fred was just being Fred. He didn't even get to give Hermione his whole spiel before Angelina busted him."

Everybody but Ron chuckled, and the conversation turned to what they were going to order, and plans for the upcoming holidays. No one but Hermione seemed to notice that Ron was uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the meal.

…0…

Later, when Ron and Harry went home to unpack, Hermione walked to her building with Angelina, who worked at the Apothecary a few doors down.

"So you're going to be in Wales for the whole of the holidays," Angelina flicked a flurry that landed on her eyelash. "I wonder what Fred's going to do without you."

Hermione turned to her, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"George and I talked for a long time the other night," Angelina began, "and he mentioned that you and Fred have been seeing each other almost every day for a few weeks now."

While the ridiculous urge to fidget under the older girl's gaze was her instinct, Hermione kept her eyes trained straight ahead of her. "We're becoming friends. Better friends," she added the last bit hastily, not sure why, but feeling the pressing need nonetheless. "Fred sort of insisted on it."

"That sounds like Fred," Angelina mused. They had reached the apothecary by then, and Angelina waved as she disappeared inside. Hermione continued on towards her building, thinking back over the last eight years of her life and why everyone seemed to think it so strange that she would want to spend time with Fred Weasley without George, Ron, or Harry present.

True, they didn't have a terrible lot in common on the surface. Fred was free spirited and jovial and laidback, always appearing to be without a care in the world. As for her, well, she was very aware of how she came across to other people; bossy, studious, uptight. The very picture of a Type A personality.

And yet, somehow, they'd gotten along better in the last few weeks than they had in all the years that they'd known each other. She genuinely liked Fred, and hoped very much that the feeling was mutual.

…0…

Later that night Hermione was packing for her visit to see her family in Wales when there was a knock at her door. Pushing a stray strand of hair back from her face, she walked to the front door and opened it to see Fred standing there, with a box of Christmas gifts. "Ho, ho, ho."

She stepped aside to let him in. "When Harry and Ron told Mum that you weren't going to be at the Burrow over the holidays she made George and me swear to see to it that you got these," he explained as he sat the box on her coffee table. "And there's some candy and stuff in there for your parents."

Peeking inside, she noticed that all the boxes had her name on the labels, and even saw Harry and Ron's trademark scrawls amongst them. She glanced up at Fred. "I don't see George anywhere."

"Oh, that," Fred pulled his gloves and coat off and sprawled across her sofa. "It seems that he and Angelina have hit it off pretty spectacularly. They went to grab a drink almost as soon as we got back from the Burrow."

Hermione went about emptying the box he'd brought in and filling it with boxes from underneath her own small Christmas tree for him to take back with him. She tried to focus on the task, not wanting to say that she had known it was coming. Although it took a lot longer in her time, understandably, George and Angelina just seemed to belong together. After Fred died, no one thought he'd ever be happy again, but Angelina had healed something inside of him that helped him moved on and live his life again. It was different circumstances, but the outcome appeared to be the same. "That's nice."

Fred shrugged. "He seems happy enough."

She looked up at him. He certainly didn't sound as though he was happy about it. "Does that bother you; George and Angelina?"

He started, and looked at her as though she had grown another head. "No."

Sitting beside him on the sofa, Hermione pulled her legs up under her and propped her cheek against her hand. "You don't seem all that thrilled that they've hit it off."

"It's not that." Sighing so deeply that his shoulders lifted away from the cushion, he settled back against it like dust, slowly and easily, before he spoke again. "I've just never seen him like this. Especially so fast."

And she understood. It wasn't that he had any feelings left for Angelina, or that he minded his brother dating his former sometime girlfriend. He was afraid of losing George, even on a small scale.

Without thinking, she laid her hand on his where it rested on his knee. One of Fred's eyebrows arched up, a devious smirk twisting his lips. "Why Miss Granger," he drawled, "look at you, taking advantage of my momentary weakness. Very sneaky."

All of the blood in Hermione's body felt like it rushed into her face. Her skin was warmer than she could ever remember. She snatched her hand back as if his leg was on fire, and then proceeded to whack him a few times with the nearest pillow.

"Her-" Fred was laughing so hard he could barely get the word out, much less stand up to get away from her assault. The only protection he could manage was to shield his face with his hands while she continued to whack him. "Hermione."

"You are the most insufferable." Whack. "The most irritating." Whack. "The most annoying, immature-" Whack.

The door opened, and Hermione looked over her shoulder, only to see George and Angelina eyeing the scene in front of them with extreme amusement. "Sorry," George said cheerfully, visibly trying to reign in his laughter, "but we uh, we came to collect Fred and, you know, heard the yelling."

Her blush renewing, Hermione smacked the poor pillow against Fred's shoulder one last time before she dropped it and stood up. "It's fine." She cleared her throat and brushed her hair away from her flushed face, a hapless attempt to regain some semblance of her dignity. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Sure you won't pummel us with your throw pillows?" George teased, earning an elbow in the ribs from Angelina.

"It's okay," she assured Hermione. "I'm sure he deserved it."

Hermione sniffed. "He did."

"Oi!" Fred protested from the sofa. "How about a little sympathy for the victim?"

George looked at his brother, drawing his eyes down his almost two meter frame, and then over Hermione's much smaller build. "I'm gonna have to go with no on that one."

Fred stood, looking very much offended, stood up and picked up the box of presents. He made his way to the door, but stopped, and turned back to Hermione. "Sorry. I was only kidding you know."

She did know, really, but it was a bit more fun to let him squirm just a bit. "Tell your parents Happy Christmas for me." He nodded, making his way out the door.

Angelina grinned at her as soon as the sound of his footsteps faded away. "I have to say I'm impressed, Hermione. As much rubbish as these two have pulled over the years, I don't think anyone's ever really given it back to them quite so…"

"Aggressively," George supplied. "And I resent the use of the word rubbish."

"Anyway," Angelina ignored George's protest, and smiled at Hermione. "Well done. Happy Christmas, Hermione." With that, she pulled George out of the flat.

Sighing, Hermione closed the door and let her head fall against it. Things were really much simpler back in her own time.

…0…


	6. Chapter 6

…0…

_if you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there_

_-lewis carroll_

…0…

The day after New Years, Hermione walked down to the grocer in Diagon Alley, laughing to herself as the shopkeepers cleaned up the last vestiges of the holiday celebrations. It looked as if she had missed quite a party while she was in Wales with her mother's family. But she hadn't seen them in so long, as school and Harry had kept her away during most breaks. She was surprised by just how much she'd missed them.

And while she there, she had missed her other family just as much. It was the first time in years that Hermione had spent the holidays away from Harry and Ron. In a way, it was worse than the three months they'd been abroad.

But what was the most surprising, was how much she'd missed the Weasley's. The lot of them had become family to her just as much as Harry and Ron had, and the first thing she did when she got back to Diagon Alley was send an owl to the Burrow to say hello. Not even ten minutes later she received a reply from Mrs. Weasley to come to dinner the next day.

After she picking up what she needed for the week, Hermione walked back towards her flat, the bags floating along in front of her. She spied George coming out of the front door of the Daily Prophet, whistling to himself, and waved when he noticed her in turn.

She set her bags down, waiting for him to cross the street. As he drew closer, she saw that he was even paler than usual and his eyes were rimmed the same color as his hair.

"Don't take offense to this, George," she told him, "but you look horrible."

He laughed. "Believe me, I've been told." Running a hand over the dusting of ginger colored stubble on his jaw, he gave her a sheepish smile. "Bill and Fleur threw a New Year's party," he told her. "Heck of one actually. If it wouldn't completely wreck my reputation as a dangerous party animal, I'd admit that I'm still a bit hung over."

Hermione laughed and patted his shoulder. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Oh, if you think I look bad," he said with a devious smirk, "you should see Ron. I doubt he'll be recovered by next New Years."

That, she could definitely believe.

"How was your Christmas?" she asked.

George stooped to pick up her groceries, walking on towards her building. "S'alright," he told her. "The Delacour's came on Boxing Day. First holiday without Fleur, you can imagine the crying." He grimaced, making her laugh. "Charlie came in. Mum's been after him the whole time to cut his hair."

"Again?"

George nodded.

They reached her building, and he handed her groceries back to her, telling her that he'd see her at dinner the next night. "Oh," he added as he headed back towards the shop, "thanks for the watch, I needed a new one."

She waved as he disappeared, only realizing when he was gone that she'd forgotten to thank him for the present he and Fred had given her.

Oh well. She could always do it at the Burrow.

…0…

The next evening, Hermione flooed into the Burrow in the midst of chaos. More so than usual.

The smell of smoke permeated the air, along with the sound of some very loud, very rapid French and Mrs. Weasley's voice coming from the kitchen. From the front of the house there was the distinct tones of Ron's yelling, and someone else's that was familiar that she couldn't place it right off.

"What is going on?" she asked, walking in to the sitting room where Ron and Charlie were engaged in an apparently very heated game of chess. Both of their faces, laced with sour expressions, were catching up to their hair as they glared at one another.

"Charlie's cheating," Ginny said simply.

He threw her an aghast look. "Who's side are you on?"

She shrugged at her brother in return. "You've never beaten Ron."

Scowling, Charlie slumped down in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Brats," he muttered, and Harry laughed on the couch beside him.

"And Fleur?" she asked.

"Oh that," Ron said. "Fleur offered to make dinner, but she burned the ham. Mum's trying to help, but it's not pretty." He motioned for her to lean in. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. Even Bill's hiding."

With a frown, Hermione pulled off her coat and sat on Charlie's other side while he and Ron finished the game.

Just as Ron was beginning to win fair and square, the smoky smell had all but dissipated, and the aroma of fresh vegetable soup and baking bread was wafting through the house and Mr. Weasley and Bill came in through the front door, followed by Fred, George and Andromeda Tonks, carrying a sleeping Teddy in her arms.

"Hello, Hermione," she said cheerfully on seeing her. "I hope you had a nice holiday, dear."

Hermione smiled in return. "I did, thank you." She wanted to return the sentiment, but she doubted it could have been very good with her husband, daughter, and son in law all gone, even with Teddy around. But the potentially awkward moment was broken by Mrs. Tonks's eyes drifting downwards. "Oh my, what a lovely bracelet."

Everyone's eyes fell down to Hermione's wrist. The impulse to cover her hand hit her, but she merely thanked Mrs. Tonks, a feeling of warmth flooding her cheeks.

Mrs. Weasley came in, her face looking quite pinched, and announced that dinner was ready. Everyone began to file towards the table, and Ginny plucked at Hermione's bracelet for a closer look. "It is pretty. Was it a gift?"

"Yes," she mumbled, lowering her eyes. They sat down between Fleur and Charlie, who was still looking a bit put out and began to eat.

…0…

After dinner, Hermione volunteered to help do the dishes. She stood at the sink with Mrs. Weasley and chatted about the holidays and all that had gone on since she'd last been to the Burrow. She asked Hermione about her job, her parents, how she was getting on with her studies for N.E.W.T.S.

Fred meandered in as they were putting the dishes away, rummaging in the leftovers.

"Fred Weasley," his mother chastised, "you just ate."

He grinned at her. "Have a heart, Mum. I'm a growing boy after all."

A pang of guilt stabbed at Hermione's stomach out of nowhere. Fred had always been the first to pilfer through the leftovers, something that became a bit of a running anecdote at the dinner table after he was killed. Seeing it again… it was a stark reminder of everything, and suddenly Hermione wanted to cry so badly she worried she'd never be able to control herself.

Though she'd tried to keep them at bay, thoughts of Percy had been following her the entire holiday. After all, it was her fault that he wasn't there to celebrate.

She turned back to the cupboard abruptly, squeezing her eyes shut to stem the tears burning hot behind her irises.

"Hey." A hand landed on her arm, and she looked up at a perplexed Fred beside her. He leaned against the counter. "You alright?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah. I just got some soap or something in my eye." She rubbed at it. "Stings a bit, that's all." Looking around, she noticed for the first time that Mrs. Weasley had left the kitchen.

Fred didn't look like he particularly believed her, but he didn't say anything further about it. Just told her that he liked the watch. She knew, as soon as she saw them, that he and George would appreciate having something that announced whenever another person was nearby. "Wish I'd had this at school," he said. "Would have come in handy after we gave Harry the Marauder's Map - to tell us when there were bossy little Prefects about."

Scowling at his teasing grin, she hrmphed a bit and crossed her arms. "Hardy har." Sitting down at the table, she softened a bit at his persistent trademark smirk. "Thank you for the bracelet. I'm sure you've noticed that I'm getting lots of compliments on it."

Fred leaned over with one hand on the table, snatching a bit of bread from the plate in front of her. "I thought Mum was making ham?"

"It's a long story," she told him.

He shrugged. "Okay then." Gesturing at her wrist with the bread, he asked, "You use it yet?"

She felt her brow knit together. "Use it? What, you mean the bracelet?" Looking down at the large oval stone, glinting iridescent in the kitchen light, dangling from her wrist, she raised it up to her eye. "What does it do?"

Beaming that he could explain something to Hermione Granger - a rarity - he sat down beside her at the table. "It's a Deciphering Stone," he began. "It can read anything."

Hermione knew her eyes must have widened at that. "Anything?"

Fred nodded. "If you hold it over something, you can read it. No matter if it's another language, or invisible ink, or just Ron's really bad penmanship," they both grinned, "it'll make it perfectly legible, but only to the person it belongs to."

Staring down at what she had thought was just a pretty clear stone on a chain, something entirely new blossomed in Hermione's chest. She didn't know quite how to describe it, but it felt shockingly close to gratitude. Never had she been given a gift that, to be entirely frank, was so perfect for her.

"I could think of a few times this would have come in handy as well," she replied, her throat feeling a little tight.

She looked up, Fred's blue eyes locking on to hers, and, for a moment, all of the breath in Hermione's chest felt like it had been sucked out.

"Oi."

Jumping up to begin covering the food, Hermione let her hair fall forward to hide her face. She had no idea what her expression must look like, but she certainly didn't need anybody asking questions until she had herself under control.

Harry stood in the doorway, looking thoroughly exasperated. "Ron's still insisting that Charlie's cheating at chess and he's put it to a vote. We need a tie breaker."

Fred laughed. "Why are they even still playing?" He wandered into the other room with Harry, leaving Hermione behind in the kitchen, the weight on her chest pressing harder than ever.

…0…

"Tell me something," Fred said a few days later, bumping her shoulder with his elbow.

Hermione lowered the Prophet, eyeing him as they walked through Diagon Alley a few days later. "Like what?"

He shrugged, dodging a scowling goblin as he raced towards Gringott's. "Dunno. You've had your nose in that paper for ages. I'm beginning to think that you're growing tired of my company."

With a sigh, Hermione folded her paper and tucked it under her arm. "Happy?"

Bobbing his head, he locked his hands behind his back. "Now that I have your undivided attention," he extracted a small vial full of a bright blue liquid and held it out to her, "George and I are looking for a guinea pig for our latest discovery."

"Oh no." Shaking her head, she summoned up the best disapproving face she could muster. "You can put that away right now, Fred Weasley."

He laughed. "Only kidding. I'm not keen on the idea of you hexing me into next week." Slipping the vial back into his pocket, he winked. "Besides, I have somebody else in mind for this."

"Fred, that really is very irresponsible. What if something goes wrong? Have you tested it at all - there could be side effects-"

"Whoa." Stopping in the middle of the street, he took her shoulders in his hands. "Hermione, calm down. It's perfectly safe, I promise." He relinquished his hold on her, and started walking again. "If it'll make you feel better, you can ask me anything."

She smiled. "Anything?"

Fred appeared a little amused by her sudden shift in mood, but nodded his acquiescence.

Hermione pursed her lips, making a great show of mulling over the question in her head before speaking. "What's the square root of pi?"

Stopping short yet again, Fred blinked at her in surprise. Then he burst out laughing. "Smartass."

She grinned, and they continued on their way.

…0…

"Blimey," Ron groaned in exasperation and threw his Quibbler down. "How did you do this so fast, Hermione?"

Trying not to smile, she shrugged. "It's really quite easy when you concentrate, Ron." She folded her own copy, covering up the hidden word puzzle that had been vexing Ron for the better part of an hour. Yes, she supposed she should feel like she was cheating, using her bracelet when no one was looking, but the look on Ron's face when she had announced that she was done in just over a minute had been entirely worth it.

Over Ron's head, George winked at her.

Harry plucked her paper from under her arm and studied it against his own. "There's a trick to this, there has to be."

George settled down at the table, eating a piece of pie and saying nothing. Ginny eyes darted between the two of them, but she too stayed quiet. She had to go back to Hogwarts the next day, so she'd insisted that all of them come over to Burrow for the day. Hermione'd had to switch shifts with Avery to be there, but watching Ron mumbling to himself and Harry holding the paper up to his eyes was worth it.

On the other side of the table, Neville was slowly filling his in, and looked to be getting most of them right. Beside him, Luna had finished almost as quickly as Hermione, but admitted that she already knew most of the answers beforehand.

It was the first time they'd all been together since the train, though it felt to Hermione as if it were much longer. Snatching her paper back from Harry, she looked around the table and saw, amazingly, that they were divided much as they had been since September. She and George were on one side of the table, Luna, Ginny, and Neville on the other, and Harry and Ron at the end. Subconsciously, their group had broken down into smaller units without intent.

It saddened her more than she cared to think about.

A pop pulled her from her musings, and Fred ambled in from the living room, sitting on Hermione's other side. He pulled the pie tin from the center of the table and summoned a fork from the drawer, digging in. Hermione scowled at him. He merely shrugged in return.

"'Bout time you got here," George said around his mouthful of pie. "This lot is going mad over some puzzle."

Picking up Hermione's discarded paper, Fred perused the offensive brainteaser for himself. "Seems Hermione didn't have much trouble."

Ron glared at his brother. "Yeah, we know."

A slow, knowing smile broke across Fred's face. "Sounds like Ickle Ronniekins is about to lose a bet."

Chuckling, Harry threw down his own paper. "Your Aunt Muriel is coming to the party tonight," he told her. "Loser has to be at her beck and call."

Fred cracked up. "You lot should have known better than to go up against Hermione on a word puzzle." His eye twitched, betraying that he was trying to reign himself in and not let the truth about her bracelet slip. Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew for a fact that he was a better liar than that.

"Well, I fold," Harry said. "I'll take Muriel if we can quit now."

Ginny too tossed her paper down. "Fine by me." Standing, she looked at Luna and Hermione. "I think we should start getting ready."

The girls stood and followed Ginny up the stairs. Hermione tossed a look over her shoulder on the way. Ron was still studying his Quibbler more attentively than he ever had his school work while the other guys shook their heads. Fred looked up and caught her eye, winking.

…0…

True to his word, Harry ran errands for Muriel all evening, hardly away from the food table set up in the living room. Hermione offered up sympathetic looks whenever their eyes met, but she wasn't about to go over there.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary, which actually wasn't for another month, while Ginny and Charlie were still there. The Burrow was crowded with people, most of whom had been at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Sitting with Luna and Ginny, Hermione was getting all the Hogwarts gossip - whether she wanted it or not. It was nice though, hearing all the typical things that girls her age talked about. Normal girls; those who hadn't lived on the run, been through a war, or gone back in time.

It was… nice.

Neville sat down, leaving his grandmother with Elphias Dodge at another table across the room. "I just came over to say goodbye," he said. "Gram's is ready to go."

"Bye, Neville," she replied. "It was good to see you."

He stood, nearly bowling Ron over behind him. They exchanged their goodbyes, and Ron turned to the table, shuffling his feet, his face pink. "Um, Hermione, you don't want to dance, do you?"

Ginny snorted. "That sounded sincere."

He tossed his sister a scathing look before turning back to Hermione. "So?"

She stood, with an inexplicable feeling of dread settling heavy in her stomach. "Why not."

They swayed to the music, and Hermione looked around the room around his shoulder. Muriel was barking something in Harry's ear. He looked positively traumatized. She waved at him, and he dashed across the floor, smack into Ron, causing him and Hermione to collide rather painfully - especially for her foot.

"Ow." She hopped back from Ron, only to realize that she couldn't put her weight on her foot and had to hold onto his arm for support.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said, taking her other arm and helping Ron lead to an empty seat at the closest table. Muriel screeched an indignant 'Potter!' from the other side of the room and he scurried away with another apology. George and Angelina had been dancing nearby, and they came over to see what was wrong.

"Blimey, Ron," George said, "you'd think you would be able to dance with a girl without killing her by now."

Shooting him a filthy look, Ron left to go get her some ice. Angelina sat down across from her. "Mind if I look?"

Hermione shook her head, and Angelina propped Hermione's foot up on her knee and eased her shoe off. Wincing, Hermione saw that the whole side of her right foot was turning purple and swelling.

"It looks like your toe is broken," Angelina told her after a few seconds. "I can set it for you if you want, but it'll hurt."

Beside her, George stuck out his hand for her to hold while Angelina set her toe. Ron returned with the ice just as the bone snapped back into place. He handed it to Angelina, who placed it firmly against Hermione's swelling foot.

"Hermione, I really am sorry," he said, his voice pitiful.

She sighed. "I know. It was an accident, Ron."

Before he could say anything else, Fred appeared, holding out a cup to her. "Here, drink this."

She peered into the cup, but didn't take it. The contents were dark green, and appeared quite thick - smelling heavily of garlic.

With a massive eye roll, Fred set the cup down on the table beside her. "I thought we talked about this chronic suspicion of yours." Off Hermione's glare, he squatted down beside her chair. "It's just a potion. George and I use it - it'll get rid of that swelling in an hour if you stay off your foot. I promise."

Something in his tone was more sincere than Hermione had ever heard him. And that, more than anything, was what made her pick up the cup and down it in one.

"Ugh," she gasped out after swallowing. "That was more vile than Polyjuice Potion."

George grinned. "It'll make you think twice about dancing with Ron again."

She laughed. Ron didn't.

She spent the rest of the evening at the table with the twins and Angelina, who teased Fred mercilessly about his gallantry in apparating home just to get Hermione the potion. Ron sat across the room and sulked the entire time.

…0…

The shift Hermione had to take for Avery to get him to cover her turned out to be the worst since Christmas. She didn't pause the entire evening, and a pair of rambunctious little boys kept knocking displays over all around the shop. She left an hour late, cranky, and wanting nothing more than a hot bath and her favorite flannel pajamas.

But when the sight of the Leaky Cauldron entered her field of vision, she decided that a drink would feel pretty good after the day she'd had.

She stepped inside to a jumble of noise, seeing Fred, Angelina, and Oliver Wood at the bar, doing eerily synchronized shots of firewhiskey, and a crowd gathered around them thundering applause.

Seeing her, Lee pulled her over to the center of the commotion. "Want to place a bet, Hermione? I'll give you great odds."

"How long have they been doing this?"

He shrugged. "They're about six in. Fred usually buckles around eight or nine." He laughed as Fred swayed on his barstool. "Sure you don't want in? That's some serious insider information."

She caught George's eye and the grin slipped off his face at the sight of her frown. Excusing herself from Lee, she walked over, placed her hands on her hips, and demanded to know what was going on.

"Contest," he said. "If either Fred or Angelina wins, Oliver has to give them free Puddlemere tickets for the rest of this season, and all next year."

"And if he wins?"

George laughed. "They have to do the team's laundry."

Hermione grimaced. "What is it with you Weasley's and bets?"

Tossing an arm around her shoulder, George steered her back to the spectacle just in time to see her three former housemates down another shot apiece. "It's our competitive natures, Hermione," he told her. "We thirst for challenge."

She rolled her eyes. "Why aren't you participating?"

"Somebody has to look out for those two." He inclined his head towards his brother and Angelina.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Hermione quirked one brow. "They make the bet while you were in the loo?"

His face fell. "Yeah."

She watched three more rounds before growing worried. They all looked a little worse for the wear, especially Oliver, who was growing more green by the second. "You know, alcohol poisoning is a genuine concern in situations like these."

George waved her off. "Nah, it's all in good fun. You should have been here before Ron left."

Alarm took her over at once. "You let _Ron_ do this?" Immediately, she gathered up her things and started for the door.

"Relax. He did two shots and got lightheaded. Harry took him home." He tilted his head, his smirk equally lopsided. "Ron's not the one to be concerned about."

No sooner were the words were out of his mouth than a loud thump echoed through the bar. She whirled to see Oliver sprawled on his back on the floor, face now red and sweaty. Angelina stood, just the slightest bit wobbly, and made her way over to them. "I tried to tell him," she said, slowly.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione inquired, noting that while she seemed a little unsteady on her feet, she didn't appear particularly inhibited.

"Fine," Angelina assured her. "When you hang out with Alicia, you have to learn to hold your liquor. She can drink both those guys under the table in half the time." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small bottle and downed the contents. "My dad's hangover preventer," she explained. "I never go into a pub without it." Grabbing George's hand, she pulled him away.

Hermione looked back over at the bar, seeing Fred with his cheek against the wood surface, one hand pressed to his forehead. Shaking her head, she went over and took Angelina's vacant seat. "Fred?"

He cracked one eye open. "Firewhiskey is bad," he mumbled.

A laugh escaped her. "I don't doubt it." Gently, she raised his face up and studied him. He was exceptionally pale, and his eyes were glassy. "Perhaps you shouldn't drink like that."

"It was a matter of hon-" he hiccupped, "of honor." He drug the r sound out, his lips pursing with the action. "That's a funny word."

Craning her neck, Hermione spotted George and waved him over. "I think it's time for Fred to go."

George crooked his finger, stepping away a bit. "Listen, Hermione, I need a small favor."

All the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood up. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like this at all. "How small?"

Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he gave her the most apologetic look she could ever remember seeing. "Angelina and I sort of, you know," he dropped his voice, "had plans tonight. And Fred promised to make himself scarce."

"That was before you let him get so drunk he can't even hold his head up," she replied flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

George held his hands up in defense. "Hey now, Fred's a big boy. It was his decision." When Hermione didn't waver, he clasped his hands in front of her face. "Please, Hermione? I'll never ask you for anything ever again."

She blew out a breath. She was beaten and knew it. "Fine. But I fully intend to hold you to that."

George dropped a huge smacking kiss on her cheek and dashed away, calling "You're the best," over his shoulder as he did so.

Hermione made it back over to Fred, glad to see that someone had managed to get Oliver up off the floor. She tugged at his shoulder until he raised his head back up off the bar and peered at her. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, as if he hadn't seen her in awhile. "I won!"

"Angelina won." Pulling at his arm, she got him to his feet, grabbing his coat from the seat next to him. "Come on, you need to sleep this off."

He staggered a bit, knocking against her. "Where're we goin'?"

She tried not to shake her head at his slurred speech. "My place - if you can make it. Otherwise you'll be sleeping in the street."

"Your place?" Fred grinned. "You're not gonna to try to take 'vantage of me, are you?"

She was fairly certain he met advantage, and it was all she could do not to drop him on the floor right then and there. "Don't worry, Fred. Your virtue is safe with me."

He nodded. "Good." Leaning in until their noses were touching, giving off a heavy smell of alcohol that she was so unaccustomed to that her stomach turned, he hissed in a way that was obviously designed to be quiet but was in fact the exact opposite. "Cause I'm a cheap drunk."

Several nearby patrons laughed, and Hermione felt her face flame. "Why me?" she muttered to herself, then to Fred, "You know, you would be much more likable if you never spoke."

"Heard that before." He paused, causing her to stumble halfway out the door. "Several times. Think it means something?"

"Who knows, Fred." Steeling herself, Hermione steered him out the door and on towards her flat.

…0…


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry, sorry. I'm having 'issues', many of which have me wanting to hurl my laptop against the wall at frequent intervals.

…0…

_we must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, _

_so as to have the life that is waiting for us. _

_- e.m. forster_

…0…

Hermione padded around her kitchen the next morning, making breakfast without even trying to be quiet. Ordinarily, she would at least made some attempt at it - if only a feeble one - but in the eight hours that had lapsed since she brought Fred home with her and deposited him on her sofa she had only gotten three hours and forty seven minutes of sleep.

And therefore all niceties had gone out the window.

She heard a loud, almost pained, groan coming from her living room as she put the kettle on.

Grabbing a bottle from her counter, she walked in and stood over the end of the sofa, eyeing Fred as he tossed an arm over his face and moaned again. "You alive down there?"

Peeping out at her from under his elbow, Fred winced. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she said simply.

He moved his arm and sat up, only to fall back to his previous position. "Ooooh… that was a bad idea."

Hermione sat on the coffee table in front of him and held the bottle towards him. "Here, hangover potion. Take it."

Fred gave her a look that, had he not been somewhat green and sweaty, would have probably been classified as thunderstruck. "Hermione Granger has hangover potion?"

She leveled an unamused look on him. "I went down to the apothecary for it earlier."

Grimacing, Fred uncorked the bottle and downed the contents in one go. Once empty, he handed it back to her. "Thanks." She nodded and walked back in the kitchen. Wobbily, Fred got to his feet and followed her. "Exactly how did I end up here?"

"You don't remember?" The kettle whistled loudly and she cringed slightly.

Fred grinned and leaned towards her. "Should I have saved you some of that potion?"

She glowered at him. "No," she told his curtly. "I didn't get much sleep, thanks to a certain someone singing until dawn and repeatedly falling off my sofa in a big noisy heap."

"Bad manners, that is," he replied. He nabbed a couple mugs from the cabinet and handed her one.

Hermione took it and poured some water in. "Yes, it is," she stated flatly, "and now I've got a migraine with your name on it."

"Aw, you named it after me? How sweet." Grinning cheekily at her, he offered to finish breakfast if she wanted to take a quick nap.

It was a thoughtful offer, and very tempting. But she only had a little over and hour before she had to be at the shop for a staff meeting and then she had promised to go over to Grimauld Place to spend some time with Harry and Ron. They had somehow managed to get the entire weekend off and she had until the next evening. And truth be told, she missed them - a lot more than she had the year she spent at Hogwarts without them.

"Tell you what," she told him, "give me a rain check and I'll try not to be horribly moody until my caffeine kicks in."

With a wide smile, Fred held out his hand to her, shaking heartily when she slid hers into it. "Deal.

…0…

Somehow, the evening of simply spending time with her best friends had become an evening of squabbling between her and Ron.

After nearly eight years, she would have thought Ron would be able to speak to her without finding the exact right thing to make her the most furious. But no. Not even in her own timeline had he mastered that skill. He was always the person who could get under her skin and push all of her buttons.

In the back of her mind at least, that should have registered somewhere along the way.

Disgruntled and crabby, Hermione stalked through Diagon Alley picking her way through a bag of caramel corn she'd picked up in Muggle London. She'd learned - the hard way - that Crookshanks had a tendency to pick up her foul moods, and there was no way she was going anywhere near him until she cooled off lest she end up with another inch deep scar on her leg.

Diagon Alley was bustling, as it usually was on Fridays. Everywhere she looked were witches and wizards out having fun; eating ice cream, browsing magical trinkets at the little tables lining the way, exclaiming over something they'd picked up at Madam Malkin's. Hermione sighed. It was times like this that she felt the most out of place.

"Hermione!"

Turning, she saw Angelina walking towards her, bright smile on her face. "Hi."

"Hi," Angelina returned, pulling on a pair of electric blue mittens that matched her scarf. "What's up?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not much. Just in a bit of a mood." She held her bag out and the older girl grabbed a handful.

"Speaking of moods…" Angelina quipped, looking forward. Hermione followed her eyes and saw Fred talking to a grey haired wizard in dark brown robes with a sour expression on his face. "Should we help him?"

"Nah." Hermione downed another handful of her snack and swallowed. "Whatever that is, I'm sure he had it coming."

Tilting her head to the side, Angelina nodded. "Probably. Butterbeer?"

…0…

After an hour Hermione's mood had lifted considerably. Angelina had been telling her stories about working for the apothecary, how nervous she was waiting for her Healer training to start, the rather surprising antics that Alicia drug her into on occasion, even some shenanigans the twins had gotten up to before she, Ron, and Harry had started Hogwarts.

And while she was curious about the year the three of them had spent on the run - as were most people - she didn't ask the annoying questions that perfect strangers had come up to the three of them with. Only when Hermione made reference to it, such as missing her parents more than she ever thought possible knowing they didn't even remember her, would Angelina even broach the edges of inquiry.

"I don't think I could do it," Angelina remarked, a touch of awe in her voice, "never knowing from one day to the next what my life was going to be, whether today was going to be the day someone who wanted me dead succeeded. You three are far braver than I am."

Blushing, Hermione ducked her head. She peeled the label off her butterbeer. It was a habit she'd picked up from Harry. She couldn't count the times she'd seen him do it, green eyes glassy, lost in his own thoughts. "It's easy to be brave when you're fighting for people you love."

A cold gust of wind announced the arrival of another patron, and Hermione looked up to see Fred heading their way with a scowl on his face. "I've just spent the last hour being yelled at by some old codger who's wife drank one of our love potions."

"That sounds ominous," Angelina remarked. She raised her hand to signal for another round of drinks. "What happened?"

He plunked down into the chair beside her. "She ran off with the milkman."

"Oh no," Hermione said. "That's awful. But why did he yell at you?"

If possible, Fred's glower darkened. "Thought I was George. He sold it to her."

Both girls dissolved into giggles. Looking highly affronted, Fred swiveled his eyes between them. "It's not funny! He called me a home-wrecker!"

Angelina collapsed into laughter so hard that tears were streaming down her face by the time she recovered herself. But one look at Fred's frown set her off again, and she had to excuse herself. "Night, Hermione. This was fun."

"It was," she agreed, waving as the other girl departed. When she turned back to Fred, he was still sporting a stormy expression on his usually smiling face. "What?"

Shaking his head, he held up his hands. "No, I don't want to start another fight. How was your evening."

As if he'd flicked a switch, Hermione's good mood evaporated and she was sporting a scowl of her own. "That brother of yours-"

"Oh, I know that tone," Fred quipped. "What'd dear Ronnikins do now?"

With a sigh, she told him the whole story; how she'd gone over to Grimmauld Place for lunch and to help them study - N.E.W.T.S. were getting closer - only to have to endure Ron's surly mood and comments about how she never bothered to spend time with them. And then on top of it all, Ron all but insisted she do the actual studying and them just tell them the important bits.

Fred gave a low whistle. "I've always thought Ron was a bit soft in the head, but he really is a special kind of stupid, isn't he?"

She didn't know if it was meant to be a joke, but she gave him a wan smile all the same. It had hurt, hearing Ron saw those things. Just when she thought they were past all that sort of stuff. (Though, in the back of her mind Hermione wondered how they'd gotten through preparing for the exams without her the first time around.)

"I'm sorry, Fred, I shouldn't be talking to you about this."

He tilted hiss head to the side, brows drawing together. "Why not?"

"Ron's your brother. It's not fair to put you in the middle of things." She drained the last of her butterbeer and fiddled with the cap. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Hey." Fred dipped his head down to force Hermione to meet his eyes. "Ron's my brother, but you're my friend and I know how he is. You say he acted like a prat, I believe you. That simple."

A sudden, powerful burst of affection swelled up in Hermione's heart that she wasn't quite sure how to deal with. The kind of blind faith in somebody else's honesty that Fred was talking about was rare. She recognized it because it was in part why she'd always believed in Harry no matter what. Some people, their character was just too good not to be trusted.

The possibility that Fred - of all people - thought the same way about her, even in a miniscule amount… it touched her more than she could say.

And as if her day hadn't been taxing enough, the unbidden onslaught of emotion caused a rush of tears to well up behind her eyes.

Fred reared back, looking alarmed. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I mean, if I did. Did I? Or are you still upset with Ron cause I can-" Hermione clapped her hand over his mouth to cut him off. His lips moved for a further few seconds before he realized she wasn't going to move her palm and he stopped.

Hermione pulled her hand away, smiling. "It's okay, Fred. And thank you."

He beamed at her, big and bright and so familiar it ached. "Anytime."

…0…

A loud thump followed by a muffled 'ow' drew Hermione's attention to the back storeroom of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was a slow day all over Diagon Alley and she had the day off from the bookstore so she'd wandered over to see what the twins were up to. Turned out a rampant bout of Wizard's Flu had spread through their staff and they had begged her to watch the register just for an hour while they finished up some mysterious something that had to be attended to right away.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a piece of toffee from the drawer by the register and popped it in her mouth. Verity, their main cashier had a severe sweet tooth and made at least three trips to Honeyduke's every week to stock up on the candy she kept in the drawer.

She looked down at her watch. Her hour was almost up and there hadn't been a single customer the entire time she'd been there. Hermione had never seen the shop anything less than obnoxiously packed. Bored, she started to gather up her things when she heard a loud cry followed by an even louder crash and ran into the back room.

Fred was standing in the middle of the room, covered in dust and plaster, coughing. A cauldron was sitting on a center table full of bubbling purple liquid that was spilling over the rim and onto the floor. She opened her mouth to ask what had happened when she heard George coughing as well… from overhead. Looking up, she saw him pinned against the ceiling of the storeroom, pushing at the surface around him in an attempt to extricate himself. "Little help?"

"How did you end up on the ceiling?" Hermione asked, pulling out her wand to try and dislodge him. It didn't work.

George harrumphed. "Ask the idiot twin."

Pulling out his own wand to help, Fred made a face at his brother. "I told you it wasn't ready." Between the two of them, they managed to get George unstuck and he fell to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

He sat up, sputtering, his entire back coated with plaster from the hole he'd made in the ceiling. "Ow."

Hermione kneeled down beside him. "Are you okay?"

George nodded. "Yeah. Pretty sure I'm gonna be bruised all to heck, but other than that I'm tip top." He glared at his brother. "You're testing it next time."

Something warm hitting the back of her hand drew Hermione's attention. She looked down and saw a drop of bright red sliding down the side of her finger. "Fred, you're bleeding."

He pulled his own hand up, turning it to examine a large gash running the length of his palm. "So I am."

Hermione stood up and took his hand in hers. "This looks painful."

"Nah," he dismissed her with a shrug. "It's just a scratch."

"How is that George flies to the ceiling, yet you're the one who's bleeding?" she asked, wiping away the smear only to have it reappear just as quickly as it'd gone. "You want to go to St. Mungo's?"

He shook his head rapidly. "No thank you. If Mum finds out, I'll never hear the end of it."

She turned to George. "I'm assuming you have some kind of first aide supplies around here somewhere?"

"Upstairs."

Hermione grabbed Fred by the wrist, pulling him along towards the stairs to the twins' flat above the shop. "I'll just clean up down here then," George called after them sarcastically. "No worries."

After Fred told her where they kept the various potions and things they used for the 'hazards' of their work, Hermione sat down beside him on the sofa, pulling his hand onto her lap. With a damp cloth, she wiped away the slowing blood flow, rubbing at the specks of dirt and plaster that were stuck to the edges of the cut. He had said it didn't hurt, but she tried to be as gentle as she could anyways. She'd had plenty of experience with Weasley men and their bravado.

"I'm fine, Hermione, honest." Fred shifted a bit beside her, clearly ready to jump up and spring back into whatever hijinks he could find, his knees bouncing ceaselessly. "I could do this myself."

"But would you?" she asked, glancing up at him. He colored a bit and slumped down in his seat. "I thought as much." With the bleeding squelched, she opened a bottle of what she knew to be the type of antiseptic potion that Mrs. Weasley used and poured a small amount over it and watched in fascination as it all but healed up, leaving behind a line that looked days old and almost gone.

"Thanks," he said, pulling his hand off of her leg and flexing his fingers. "Good as new, eh?"

She smiled. "I think you'll live."

He grinned at her, his tongue poking between his teeth. "Admit it, Granger, you just wanted to get me alone."

With a shake of her head, she patted him on the shoulder. "You really do have so much nerve, Mr. Weasley."

Fred bobbed his head. "I only speak the truth. Not that I'm complaining."

"Oh?"

Giving her an evil grin, he leaned in. "I kind of like your fussing over me to be honest. And since I live but to serve, you find me totally at your disposal, yours to command. Use me as you will." He flopped back against the cushions, spreading his arms wide.

Hermione felt a heavy flush rising up her cheeks as her mouth dropped open. Fred had an uncanny knack for saying just the right to embarrass her. Not that she took him seriously. He was just being… Fred. When they were younger, it had been her studiousness and obsessive tendencies that he'd teased her about. But now they were older, and there were other subjects that made her blush. "Is it possible for your ego to get any bigger?"

"Now, now, let's be civil here." He sat up, leaning his weight on his knees and pushing himself into her personal space. "There's no reason to be coy, Hermione. I knew you wanted me all along."

Additional blood rushing to her face, this time in shock, she felt her mouth drop open. "And how is that?"

"Well, you did literally throw yourself at me," he teased, tipping his head to one side.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "Maybe I should have let that wall fall on your big head," and regretted it at once. The image of Percy flashed in front of her eyes, still and pale, only to be replaced by one of Fred so similar that her stomach rolled and she was certain that she was about to be sick. Turning her head quickly, she took a few slow breaths to try and calm her nerves and willed the pictures in her head to just go away. Her eyes clamped tightly shut like when she was a child and tried hiding from bad dreams.

"Hermione?" She felt warmth sliding over her hands, and opened her eyes to see Fred leaning close, too close to her, one of his hands dwarfing hers on her lap. His face was fixed in a worried expression that she'd never seen on him before. "I was only kidding, I'm sorry."

And it dawned on her that he thought he had offended her and it just made her feel that much worse. "No, Fred - don't worry about it, it wasn't what you said."

He looked dubious, narrowing his eyes. She fully anticipated him to ask her whether or not she was merely trying to make him feel better, but instead, he looked in her eyes and said, all mocking gone, "Then you do want me?"

The way he said it was clearly one of those things meant as a joke; a half serious comment not properly thought through, but it hung in the air, considered on both sides, and it changed. Fred's simple, thrown off comment ended up differently than it was intended and Hermione's breath caught in her throat when that fact dawned on her.

"Fred…" She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but it didn't seem to matter. His name, whispered so low it was near inaudible, barely left her lips before Fred's mouth landed against hers.

His hands came around her back, one twining up into her hair to cradle the back of her head and angle it as his mouth moved away and found hers again in the space of a heartbeat. A tiny whimper managed to work its way out of Hermione's mouth, and she slid her palms down the length of his chest, her fingers tangling in the soft cotton of his work robes. Her grip grew tighter with his, his fingers digging into her back through her clothes almost to the point of pain, and only realized when it was already happening that she had tugged him flush against her and instantly wanted nothing more than for the sofa to swallow her up. She untangled herself from him, not able to stop from pulling in a hitching, shivery breath.

Fred's hands fell away from her back, his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of the wall behind her shoulder. In all the time she'd known, through all the antics she had seen him pull, this was the first time he'd ever looked truly sheepish.

"Well…" she said, pushing her mussed curls away from her red face.

Fred chuckled, forced and nervous, and he too raked a self conscious hand through his shaggy ginger strands. Then their eyes met and he laughed for real. "Gone and complicated that one I'd say," he remarked in a dry voice. "You're not gonna hex me now, are you?"

In all honesty, Hermione doubted if her muddled brain would be able to remember a spell at that point, let alone use it. She cleared her throat, not sure she trusted herself enough to speak. "No, Fred, I'm not going to hex you. Is there any particular reason I should?"

He grinned. "Well I did just give you the best snog of your life without permission."

She glared at him. Partly out of exasperation for his cheek, but also because he was right. "You're awfully confident for someone who's had no confirmation of his assumption."

His smile faltered at that. Lips pursing, he pulled away from her and flopped gracelessly against the sofa cushion beside her. "You are a cold woman, Granger," he said, poking her arm with his finger. "Having your way with me and then disparaging my considerable skill."

Head falling into her hands, Hermione groaned. Then she recovered her composure and stood up. "I think I've had enough-"

"Fun."

"-impropriety for one day." She stood up and straightened her clothes, heading for the door. She paused. "George doesn't hear about this."

He gave her a tiny salute. "Yes ma'am."

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione left the flat and headed down the stairs, gripping the banister the entire way.

…0…

"What are you eating?"

Hermione swallowed, stepping back to let Fred in. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

He took his coat off and wandered into her small kitchen, sitting between Harry and Ron at the table. Both of them were eating sandwiches as well, with sodas and bags of crisps pilled on top of their books. "Is that a Muggle thing?"

"Yes." She sat down in her empty chair between Ron and Harry. "You want one?"

He shook his head and grabbed Ron's crisps, much to his brother's protest. "You lot planning to do this all night?"

"Nah, we gotta be at work at six," Ron said, grabbing his bag back and eating the last remainders. "But Hermione said we wouldn't need long for Transfiguration."

Eyebrows arching, Fred swiveled his head to face her. At once, it felt as if the temperature in the room had gone up about fifteen degrees. It had been a couple weeks since that day in his flat and while Hermione had seen Fred in that time, she had been actively trying to keep herself busy so another close quarter situation like that one wouldn't occur. When it was unavoidable for her to be in Fred's company, she always made sure that there was someone - anyone - else along.

But still, it wasn't easy to keep the memory from popping up in her head, usually causing her to flush or stumble, or knock something over and just generally making a spectacle of herself at random intervals.

Trying to stave off a scarlet heat from blooming across her face, Hermione averted her gaze from Fred's eyes, which were twinkling with a mischievous glint that she knew all too well.

"And how would our dear Hermione know what you need to study?" Fred leaned forward on the table, elbows propped, tapping his fingers together like a character from a cartoon Hermione vaguely remembered watching when she was little. "Do you suddenly find yourself gifted with The Sight?" he let his voice rise in pitch, going breathy in a spot perfect imitation of Professor Trelawny.

Hermione found herself laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of Fred Weasley. "Did you come around just to mock me? I'm sure that could have waited."

A huge canary eating cat smile spread wide over his face as he leaned back in his chair, the front legs coming up off the floor. "That is always a perk, but no. My dear twin has booted me from the premises for the evening and Hermione Granger can never turn away those in need."

Rolling his eyes, Ron shut his book. "Yeah, you're really in need, Fred."

Fred continued to grin at Hermione. "Only of lovely female company."

Blushing crimson to the roots of her hair, Hermione stood up and started to put things back in order from Harry and Ron's assault on her kitchen. "Honestly." Were she and Fred alone right then she would most definitely have been telling him off, but as it happened she was with the one person she never wanted to find out what had happened in Fred's flat - and he knew it.

Hermione had always suspected, and was now quite sure, that Fred Weasley was possessed of something of a sadistic streak.

Ron began to speak, and Hermione could hear the annoyance in his voice, and the pink that spread all the way to his ears whenever he was angry or uncomfortable was almost as audible. But she was so busy glaring at the plate and glass in her sink so she wouldn't turn and glower at Fred that she missed what he said - until he said her name, in a tone that implied he'd said it more than once. "What?"

Scowling, Ron stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor, and gathered his books. "Nothing." Without another word he apparated out.

She turned her gaze to Harry in confusion. His cheeks slightly pink, he shrugged. "He'll get over it." Then he stood to leave as well, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder before he too was gone.

With a frown, Hermione turned to Fred and arched one eyebrow. "I think I missed something."

"I'll say," he said flatly and grabbed another handful of crisps from Ron's discarded bag.

A few seconds passed, during which she waited for him to clue her in, before she heaved a heavy sigh of agitation. "Are you going to tell me what it was?"

He raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug and dropped it back down. "Ron's just being a git."

She leveled a look on him. "Fred."

"Apparently," he said, "Ron doesn't appreciate me 'intruding' on your time with him and Harry - especially since I see you more than they do already - and he thinks I'm far too 'familiar' with you."

Hermione felt the beginnings of a headache forming between her eyes and she rubbed at it idly. "Familiar?"

"You know Ron," he remarked as an explanation, though it didn't really explain anything.

Feeling that he was withholding a very important piece of the story but not feeling the inclination to inquire further, Hermione told him that she was having dinner with her parents and he took the hint and stood to leave. He paused at her door, saying he'd see her later in a distracted voice that was very out of character for Fred - at least the Fred she'd been getting to know the last few months.

Sighing, Hermione shut the door behind him and sat back down to her books.

…0…

On her way home that night, Hermione walked towards her flat with her head down, lost in thought. True to her word - and with a lack of anything else to do - she had gone to her parents' for dinner and stayed for a game of Scrabble with her dad, much like most of her nights when she was a little girl. Her parents had been happy to see her, and knowing that she was only there out of a lack of anything else to do had added a layer of guilt on her mood that didn't help at all.

She left early, begging off with the excuse of having to work the next morning.

It was the first time she'd ever deliberately lied to her parents. And frankly, it stunk.

But the worst of it was that the thought of what Ron had said to Fred that she hadn't caught wouldn't leave her mind. She'd wracked her brain all through dinner in the hopes that maybe she'd remember hearing bits of the conversation if she tried hard enough, but nothing. Hermione knew Ron, she knew him as well as she knew anybody, so she had a pretty good idea as to the general implications of what he could have said, but not knowing the specifics, it was driving her crazy.

Hermione liked specifics. She thrived on them.

A raucous cheer drew her attention to the Leaky Cauldron. She'd apparated in to one of the designated areas in Diagon Alley, not much in the mood to deal with the pub crowd. The war had been over for months, but the celebrating had yet to cease and there was always a party in progress going on in the pub that reminded her more of the Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade weekend than the one time she'd stayed at the Leaky Cauldron prior during school.

She still wasn't in the mood, but she recognized that sort of cheer; someone doing something they were most likely going to want to forget in the near future. Hermione had spent enough time in the company of boys the last few years to distinguish that particular sound. Just as she had no doubts she would be able to pick out the hiss of a Slytherin's snide whisper over the din of Quidditch World Cup final.

And if Hermione knew anything, she knew that no one could generate that sort of roar like a Weasley twin.

Her curiosity itching at her skin like poison sumac, she stood in front of her building and stared at the closing brick wall that separated the pub off from the rest of the street. No sooner than it closed than it opened again and Lee stepped through, letting the noise out once more and drawing stares. He dropped his chin and wandered off in her direction, clearly with a purpose. It wasn't until he walked by her that realized her was headed for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes at the other end of the street.

"Lee."

He turned as she called out to him, his face clearing when his eyes landed on her. "Hermione, hey. I didn't see you there."

She took a few steps closer to where he was standing in front of Potage's Cauldron Shop. "Is everything okay, Lee? You look a little… harried."

He shrugged, but the motion was jerky and rapid in a way that made it quite clear that the implied casualness of the gesture was entirely forced. "Why wouldn't I be?" he tossed the words off quickly and barreled on before she could actually ask why. "Just on my way to see if George would care to join us down at the pub. We're playing Wizard's Darts and Fred's bet Oliver a good chunk of Weasley stock. Figured George would want a say in the matter."

Again, there was something missing in his story. Just like Fred earlier, Lee was keeping a very significant detail to himself for some reason.

After years of dealing with Harry and his guilt complex, Hermione knew an evasive answer when she heard it.

"Well that sounds entertaining. Mind if I tag along?" she turned on her heel and began walking towards the other end of the street only to have Lee take hold of her elbow and direct her back towards her flat.

"Oh, you wouldn't be interested, Hermione. It's kind of a guy thing."

"Darts?"

His head bobbed, dark dreadlocks flinging about his face. "It's mostly blokes tonight. With our… coarse language and off color jokes. Wouldn't want to offend you, you know how it is."

She raised an eyebrow. It was actually a good excuse - but not good enough to explain dragging George away from a date with Angelina.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Lee blanched. Then, as a fleeting expression of panic took over his features, he began to back away from her slowly in the direction he'd come. "Nothing," he said at first, but after a few seconds he caved and blurted in a rush, "Honestly Hermione, you do not want to be around Fred at the moment. I know you guys are friends and all, but he was in a right mood when he came in and he's been drinking and hitting on every witch he's seen all night. If you were to go down there he'd just offend you, and then you'd be forced to, let's say, handle things, and I really don't fancy having to be the one to tell Mrs. Weasley that her son's in St. Mungo's for doing something he should have had the good sense not to do." Breaking off, he took in a sharp breath that wheezed a little at the end. Saying all that in one breath was quite impressive.

Still, she didn't believe one word of it.

On the other hand, if Lee was trying this hard to keep her away from the pub, then he must have truly believed that it was for the best. And that was something she had to respect.

With a deep sigh, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself, both to stave off the chill of standing outside in the cold for so long and to soothe the small hit to her ego of not being able to help Fred. She had always been the one to help, always, ever since she reparoed Harry's glasses on that first train ride. It was a big part of who she was.

"Okay," she says, after a few seconds ticked past and Lee grew even more jittery.

He visibly exhaled as she spoke, a tiny light sparking in his eyes. His lips parted, but whatever he was about to say gets lost as the wall parted again and a huge roar filled the otherwise quiet street. Unlike the earlier ones, this noise was anything but happy.

"Just," she added, as Lee made to head off toward the shop once more, "let me know, if you need anything."

Nodding absently, obviously just pacifying her, trying to get away, Lee finally turned and made his way to the front door of the shop, pulling out a key and dashing inside.

There wasn't anything else for her to do, unless she were to just turn and make her way down to the Leaky Cauldron herself, but that apparently wasn't what Fred needed right then, so she trudged through the dregs of days old snow and walked up the stairs to her flat, standing at the window as Lee, George, and Angelina dashed down the street and back up the other way, Oliver Wood practically dragging a visibly agitated looking Fred by the arm.

Hermione stood by her window for a long time, as the lights in what she knew to be Fred's room above the shop came to life, flickering through the warp of two panes of glass, and eventually went out.

…0…

January waned, the snow tapering off into a heavy, persistent rain that seemed to infect Hermione's mood. By the time February rolled in, she was snappish and short-tempered, reminding herself painfully of Snape at times. And it wasn't only her that noticed. Harry and Ron began coming over more regular, to study, or she would pop over to Grimauld Place which came with the perk of Kreacher's cooking, only to spend the time tense and annoyed at the lack of focus they showed. It wasn't until she blew up and told them both that they'd never get the scores to be Aurors if they didn't work harder (and stop being so lazy and dependent on her) - rewarded with a scowl and slammed door from Ron - that she sat down to think, really think, about what was going on with her.

It was so obvious once she pondered on it that it was amazing she hadn't realized it sooner.

It had been almost three weeks and Hermione had neither seen nor heard from Fred. Or George for that matter. Even Lee and Angelina had been scarce.

Hermione had spent the last few years of her life, for the most part, without Fred. He left school early when she was fifteen and then she only saw him sporadically over the next two years. Then, he was gone, and she lived three years of her life with him as a memory. Before that, he'd been a housemate, brother of a friend, a quasi friend at best. He was a part of her life, but he wasn't essential, not really. Not to her. He was essential to Ron, who _was _essential to her. She wasn't sure where that left things, beyond the belief that he would, one day, be family.

In reality, Hermione had met Fred for ten years ago once added up, though she could only say she'd really known him for the past few months. And in that brief time, amazingly enough, he had become somewhat… essential.

It was a shock, to say the least.

The last couple of months began to replay in her head, starting with the battle and pushing Fred out of the way of the curse and the falling wall that came with it, and ending with the last time she'd spoken to him at her flat. It seemed amazing that so much could have happened in such a short amount of time.

Hermione walked, with no real destination, turning thoughts and words and a hundred little moments over in her head in hopes of pinpointing just when her life had stopped making sense.

Probably sometime around when she took hold of her older self's arm and went back in time.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice she'd ended up on the other side of the twin's shop until a hand shot out and she was yanked behind the back wall of the building.

Her startled eyes shot open, locking onto Fred's uncharacteristically serious blue ones. "Shh," he hissed, lowering the hand she hadn't even been aware was over her mouth to muffle the yelp that she instinctively made. "Don't make a peep." He leaned around her, pressing his body even tighter against hers than it already was. A flood of heat rushed into her face when she realized that every inch of her from her shoulders to knee was pinned between Fred's long lanky form and the unforgiving solidity of purple brick. She dropped her chin, very pointedly not looking at Fred, hoping her mass of hair would for once be of benefit and hide the bright red of her face. It felt so hot that it must have been absolutely glowing and she didn't want any attention drawn to it.

Craning his head around the corner of the building, Fred pressed his upper body almost painfully into hers. Her hand must have come up sometime in the second after he grabbed her, for her arm was trapped in place between them, lying the length of Fred's chest and stomach. She felt the chain of the bracelet he gave her for Christmas digging into the skin of her wrist. No doubt the links would be imprinted on his as well, just left of his sternum by the feel of things and the thought made her squirm with embarrassment.

A few awkward seconds later Fred finally pulled back, and gave her a small smile. "Sorry about that."

"No," she replied, clearing her throat. She pretended to be engrossed with a stray thread on her cuff just to have an excuse not to look up at him until the heat in her face abated. "What was that about anyway?"

Fred turned, leaning against the wall beside her. He crossed his arms and waited a beat before he answered her. She could feel his eyes on her, and it only reinforced her decision to not look up. "Some bloke, he keeps trying to sell George and me his inventions." He kicked idly at a pebble. "His ideas aren't half bad, but they never seem to work the way they're supposed to and he just won't take no for an answer."

"Oh." Finally, Hermione chanced a glance over at him. Something about him looked… off, somehow. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was an air radiating about him that almost felt as if it didn't belong to him. It was a feeling she was unfortunately familiar with. More than once in the last few years she'd gotten the same vibe from George as he'd sit, lost in thought, his face uncharacteristically somber. "So you decided to hide from him?"

He gave her a wry grin. "My Gryffindor courage seems to be in short supply lately."

Hermione managed a tiny smile that she couldn't contain. "I doubt that. You just don't want to hurt his feelings." It was much more likely. Knowing him, he was losing his patience with this man, and was afraid of saying something nasty that he wouldn't be able to take back.

Fred scoffed. "Why is it that girls always think that way? Most blokes aren't as sweet and cuddly as they'd like to pretend we are."

"And most of them aren't nearly as tough as they think," she retorted, bumping his arm with hers. "Or as impulsive." She paused a beat, considering. "Present company excluded."

Grinning, Fred laughed for real. "So my secret is out then?"

She nodded. "Oh, I'd say that was never really a secret, Fred."

His lips pursed, mulling it over for a few seconds before he shrugged. "It happens." He held his hand out in offer to her. "Care to join me for a trip down to Fortescue's?"

"I'd love to," Hermione replied, slipping her arm through his and tried not to groan as he began to regale her of the pranks he and George had been pulling on their new neighbour since she'd last seen him.

All was normal.

…0…


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Apparently I missed the JK Rowling announcement that not only did she not originally plan to kill Fred, but SHE ALMOST PUT HERMIONE AND FRED TOGETHER. Ugh. In a way, I feel vindicated, but also - IT HURTS, like when I found out that Max/Alec was planned for Season 3 of Dark Angel. : (

…0…

_the people who make us happy are never the people we expect. _

_so when you find someone, you've got to cherish it. _

_- skins, 306: naomi _

…0…

"_What else did you take?"_

"_Nothing, I swear."_

_Throat raw from screaming, her arm on fire, Hermione sobbed, everything in her crying out for it to just be over, please let it be over…_

"Hermione?"

With a jolt, her eyes flew open, staring up a ceiling painted a glittery sparkling gold. The bleakness and washed out blacks and grays of Malfoy manor receding back into her memories. She sat up slowly, feeling drained, and blinked as she looked around. "What time is it?"

Fred, who was looking at her strangely, withdrew his hand from her shoulder and began putting away a stack of inventory sheets that hadn't been sitting on the coffee table earlier. "A little after two."

"Oh no." She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep. She'd been looking forward to an evening in earlier that day when George ambled into Flourish and Blotts and asked her to help him choose a birthday present for Angelina, as Alicia had been sent abroad for training and he was utterly at a loss. From there it had turned into a small party in the twins' flat. The last thing she remembered, she and Dean had been talking about their favorite muggle films from when they were kids. A small wave of embarrassment swept over her; poor Dean, having her fall asleep on him mid conversation. It was supremely rude.

Pushing off a very warm, nubby blanket, Hermione ran a hand through her hair. Her arm was aching where she'd lain on it. The rational Muggleborn part of her, which knew that was probably what triggered her nightmare, fought with the side that still flinched every time someone mentioned Bellatrix Lestrange. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost an hour," he told her. "The party broke up when Angelina noticed you'd nodded off."

She covered her eyes with her hand, feeling even worse. Not only had she been rude to Dean, she'd ruined Angelina's party. "Why didn't somebody wake me up?"

"Didn't wanna get hexed ," George said, wandering past into the kitchen. "Ron was going to, but Fred said no and shooed him out."

Her eyes flicked over to Fred, who was very deliberately studying his hands. "So I guess it's safe to assume that you're the one responsible for the blanket?"

He looked up, a sheepish look on his face. "I figured I owed you one; I did keep you up that night you let me stay at your place."

Chuckling, George ambled back towards his bedroom with a glass of water. "You two are so cute," he replied, throwing his hand up in a backwards wave. "Night."

Hermione felt a slight flush at George's words, but ignored them. She stood and folded the blanket carefully. When she turned back around, Fred was looking at her curiously, head tilted. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Fred."

Heaving a sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his head. "It's just…" His mouth moved a bit, obviously trying out the words in his head before saying them, "you had a nightmare, didn't you?"

Cold wind swooped through her stomach, followed by the hot tingle of embarrassment. "Why would you think that?"

He looked at her with all the knowledge of someone well versed in being caught. "You forget, I have shared a room with Harry. I know a nightmare when I hear it."

Her shoulders slumped. There was no point denying it. "It's not a big deal," she assured him as she sat back down across from him.

Fred began drumming his fingers on the folder he'd put the papers in, not looking at her once more. "I have them too, sometimes."

Hermione's head shot up. "You do?"

Nodding, he started beating out a somewhat familiar tune with his fingertips. "Yeah. A lot of really horrible stuff has happened the last few years. I'd be worried if we didn't all still have them once in a while."

She nodded. Though he didn't say anything, Fred's eyes had a spark of curiosity she recognized and something in that moment made her want to talk about it. Steeling her courage, Hermione took a deep breath and blurted it all out before she could talk herself out it. "When the snacthers caught us…" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed a heavy lump rapidly forming in her throat. "They took us to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix, she thought we'd broken into her vault at Gringotts… I can't help but think about it sometimes. "

She chanced a glance up. Fred was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, eyes watching her carefully. "What happened?"

Hermione pointed out a small scar on her throat, carefully, as though the raised white mark, tiny as it was, had been made recently and not close to a year earlier. "This. And," she pushed up her sleeve. Fred sucked in a harsh breath, and her entire body felt on fire in mortification. "this. Nothing else left a scar."

"Nothing else?"

He sounded… honestly she didn't know how he sounded. It certainly wasn't the tone she was accustomed to associating with Fred Weasley. He'd clenched his hands together, his knuckles whiter than white against his already pale skin. But his eyes were the most jarring thing. The blue of his irises were almost invisible; two glittering black specks of anger were trained on the ugly word marring the skin of her forearm.

"It'll heal," she told him. That was the thing that helped the most whenever she would look down and see the reddish marks cut into her flesh, knowing that by the time she was twenty-one they would be all but invisible except in the brightest light.

Fred was still silent, staring at her. Feeling self-conscious beyond belief, she rolled the fabric back down.

"I knew you three must have went through some rough times," he muttered, "but I had no idea…" He cleared his throat. His eyes were focused somewhere in the vicinity of the wall behind her head. "I'm glad Mum got her when she did. I reckon Harry and Ron would've had something to say about that."

The grimace she felt on her face faded, ever so slightly. "As bad as it was, it helped, knowing they would come get me as soon as they could. I could hear them, down in the dungeon, screaming my name." The lump returned, swelling. Her eyes began to water as she remembered that night. "I don't think I've ever heard either of them so scared."

A few tears leaked out and Fred laid his hand over hers, tentatively. He looked a little at a loss, but the effort was appreciated.

"Those two," Fred murmured, "they really love you."

An unexpected laugh burst out of her throat. "Yeah, I guess they do."

"And you love them," Fred added, and unless she had gone mad, she thought there might have been the slightest hint of sadness underlining the words.

She nodded, the conversation taking a different kind of seriousness that it hadn't possessed before. She did love them, both of them, more than anything else in the world and always had. They were her boys. Hermione thought about them; the three of them all so different that they really shouldn't have fit together, but did in spite of it. Maybe because of it. She thought of Harry, amazing, wonderful Harry, and all the power he had yet to realize he had, the world so heavy on his shoulders that sometimes she worried it might suffocate them all. And Ron, who was brave and reckless and hapless, defiant down to his bones. Who would take on the whole world itself for anybody he loved.

It made her think, of a lot of things. "Do you remember when Malfoy called me a Mudblood?" Her fingers tripped over the words on her covered skin, tracing them by heart.

Fred scowled. "'Course. Slimy little git."

A small smile tripped over her mouth. "You and George, you both tried to jump him." Fred grinned. "I never said it, but I really appreciated you two standing up for me like that. Of course I was never sure if it was about me or the word…"

"It was you."

Her mouth clamped shut and a surge of blood flooded her face. Fred's as well, only he laughed it off in a way that she couldn't. "You were such a good friend to Ron, and you know, a fellow Gryffindor." Something inside her inexplicably wilted. "And Mum would've killed us if she'd ever found out we didn't stand up for you."

"Well," she said, once she'd found her voice again, "I'm a lucky girl to have you all defending me."

Fred smirked. "You could flatten us any day and you know it."

The clock in the kitchen chimed. She'd only just woken, but Hermione felt each second of it in her bones. "I should go."

Beginning to protest, Fred stood as she did. "Hermione, it's late…"

She cut him off, trying to edge out the door as quickly as she could. "Thanks, Fred. I'll see you later."

His hand closed around hers on the doorknob. Looking up, Hermione felt her heart give a little stutter at the look on his face, closer to hers than was probably appropriate. "About Malfoy… I'd do it again. Not just him, and not just because of Ron."

Breath caught in her throat, she nodded. "I know." He let go and she managed to get out the door, shuddering in a shaky breath before apparating home.

…0…

Sunday dinners at the Burrow had been a tradition since the war ended. Hermione remembered every one that Harry would write to her about the year she was Hogwarts, every one after school ended and how the long table surrounded by warming charms out in the yard seemed to expand with people every week.

Hermione hadn't been to one since she came back.

Mrs. Weasley always made sure she was sent left overs, just as Hermione always made sure that she would be otherwise engaged every week.

The last Sunday in February was unseasonably warm; people were crowded into Diagon Alley like they hadn't been since Christmas but, to her surprise, Hermione had the day off. And with her parents off on a wine tasting holiday with some friends, she realized with a panic that she had no excuse not to go to dinner.

It wasn't that Hermione didn't want to see the Weasley's. She did. They were family, and she loved them. There would be good company - people she'd like to see; she knew that Mrs. Tonks would be there with Teddy, that Hagrid would probably show up before dessert, that Kingsley would be complaining about being interim Minister of Magic, that Charlie was supposed to be in for the weekend, that Angelina and Oliver had become frequent guests. It would be a good time without a doubt.

It would also, if she went, be the first family dinner in four years that Hermione would go to and not see Percy.

The thing that scared Hermione the most about still not being back in her own time was how often she found herself forgetting that Percy was gone, and that she was responsible for it. Absurd really, when Fred was such a presence in her life. And yet, it was still true.

And speaking of Fred, she opened her door just as the thought went through her mind, like she had conjured him up. He grinned at her. "You're not working today."

"I am not," she agreed, her guard going up at the look on his face.

He leaned against her doorframe. "Harry said your parents were away."

She nodded.

His grin widened, if possible. "Which he said in front of Mum." Her stomach flipped. "So she sent me to make sure you come to dinner."

Her mouth opened, protest already poised on the tip of her tongue. Fred clapped a hand over her mouth. "No excuses. I was instructed to call in reinforcements if need be."

She sighed. Prying his hand away, she glared at him. "Just give me five minutes to change."

He saluted her, striding past and flopping onto her couch. Fuming, she spent several seconds shooting daggers at his head until he tapped his watch with his fingertip and she stomped off to her room.

She changed fast, noting as she pulled a shirt over her head that it was very quiet in her sitting room. Much too quiet with a Weasley present. Hermione dashed back into the front of her flat, nearly killing herself trying to walk and pull on a pair of boots at the same time, and felt her face light up like a Christmas tree.

"You know, if I'd known you were reading this kind of stuff all those years at school I wouldn't have teased you nearly as much," he said, flipping a page. One ginger eyebrow shot up. "Though some of this stuff is just impossible. Nobody's legs bend that way."

She snatched her book out of his hands, trying her best to look menacing even though she could feel the heat of her blush all over her body. Funny, how much time she spent blushing in Fred's company. As for Fred himself, he sat on her sofa, looking seven different kinds of smug. "For your information," she snapped, "Ginny loaned me that book."

Hermione smirked as the smug look melted off his face, replaced by one of abject horror. "I did not need that in my head." He stood, staring down at her with a mock glare. "Well played, Granger." Pulling his wand from his pocket, he asked, "Ready to eat?"

…0…

The first few minutes in the Burrow pressed down on Hermione. The weight sat on her chest and stomach, a loud roaring in her ears. Directly across from the kitchen door was a framed picture of Percy, taken while he was still at Hogwarts. His Head Boy badge gleamed on his chest.

When she was young - so young she shouldn't have even remembered - Hermione used to have panic attacks. The result of a Type A personality, that's what the doctors had always told her parents, giving them pamphlets on stress relieving techniques and advising a time limit on demanding activities. By the time she started Hogwarts, they were under control. There were of course the inevitable stresses, and the ones that no one could have seen coming. Many nights Hermione had jolted awake in her bed in Gryffindor Tower in the grips of night sweats and her breath coming in short pants thinking of some new disaster that could befall everyone she loved at any moment.

Standing in the Burrow kitchen, Percy's smiling face staring down at her, she felt that same tell-tale swelling of panic building in her chest. All at once the noise was too loud and it was too crowded. She needed air.

Collapsing on the back steps, Hermione took deep breath after deep breath, counting to ten in her mind until she felt her pulse return to normal.

A loud smacking overhead drew her attention and she looked up.

An impromptu Quidditch game had sprung up, the nice weather too much of a temptation apparently. She sat for a few moments, watching it unfold. The team comprised of Harry, Ron, Oliver, and Angelina was flying circles around the remaining four Weasley's, only to be outstrengthed in return. Even Oliver, who played professionally, was no match for four former beaters and the game quickly dissolved into who could knock who of their broom first.

A week's worth of rain had turned the ground under them into a muddy mess, and it took no time for all of them to realize just how much they didn't want to be the ones landing in the middle of it.

With renewed vigor, the eight of them flew after each other, delighting Teddy from the kitchen window, yelling and grabbing at bits of clothes and brooms. Ron was the first casualty, tumbling down in a heap after his attempts to dodge Bill sent him barreling straight into Oliver. He came up sputtering, scourgifying himself and took a seat in front of Hermione on the steps.

"You're awfully quiet," he remarked. "Everything alright?"

Hermione nodded. "Just a bit tired, you know. Work, and revision."

Ron leaned back on his elbows, smiling up at the spectacle of George holding the end of Angelina's broom as she tried to simultaneously swat him away and hold on at once overhead. "Yeah. But it's just for a few more months, eh?" He grinned at her, and Hermione couldn't help but return it, plucking some stray bits of mud he'd missed from his hair.

Somebody shrieked, and the two of them looked up to see Fred and Angelina both facedown in the mud, laughing like mad. Angelina threw a large clump at him, grinning. "Where's your head, Weasley?" she teased. He returned her fire, only to have her tackle him into the mud. Charlie and Harry cackled overhead. Bill, smirking, clapped George on the shoulder; he merely shook his head.

"Okay, break it up," Charlie said. He landed beside them, helping Angelina to her feet. "I think she won that round, Freddie." He grinned, tipping his head to a large tear running along the top of Fred's shoulder.

Fred shrugged, taking hold of the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head. Large patches of his skin were smeared with mud as well, which he paid no mind to as he examined his shirt. "Oi," he told Angelina, "you owe me a new shirt."

With a roll of her eyes, she pointed her wand and with a flash of glittery blue, the tear re-stitched itself. But instead of saying thank you, Fred merely tossed it at her head. Angelina laughed, shoving at him.

"I would not want to be George later," Ron remarked. "Those two are not gonna let this one go."

Hermione barely heard him. For some reason, she couldn't help but stare at Angelina and Fred as they goofed around, chasing each other around the pitch, throwing clumps of mud that hit Charlie more often than it did either of them. The panic that Hermione had just managed to control reared back up, for no explainable reason as she watched the two of them grappling, Angelina latching onto Fred's neck and hanging on as he tried to get her off his back.

Hermione stood and stomped inside, heading up the stairs with no real destination in mind until she ended up in the topmost bathroom.

She paced in front of the door for a few seconds, grabbing at her hair in frustration. "Get a grip," she whispered to herself, annoyed that she was acting this way for no reason. Seeing Fred and Angelina horsing around - something she'd seen numerous times since she was eleven - was causing a stronger reaction in her than thinking about Percy.

And that was just mad. Simply… mad.

Splashing cold water on her face, Hermione counted to ten, taking in slow, even breathes through her nose and expelling them out her mouth. Feeling a bit more herself, she turned to leave, only to have the door swing open from the other side and Fred wandered in, devoid of mud but still looking thoroughly mussed.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Didn't know you were in here. Might want to think about locking next time." He grinned at her, wide, wicked. Weasley. And for once Hermione didn't have it in her to return it. Noticing, Fred's smile slipped off. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Bollocks." Fred shut the door back, locking it. She rolled her eyes. It wasn't as if that could actually stop her if she wanted out of the room and he knew it. He leaned back against the door, arms over his chest, an expectant look on his face. "You've been weird all day - out with it."

Hermione frowned. For one, she really did not appreciate his tone. Nor was she keen to enlighten him on the fact that she was having panic attacks over her guilt about Percy and him and Angelina. It would only lead to disaster.

"Fred," she said slowly, "I want you to move and let me pass, right now."

He grinned once more. "Nope."

"Excuse me?"

Lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug, he relaxed his posture. He was no longer towering over her as he usually did, but he was still tall and broad enough to effectively block the door. "I said no," he told her, as though it was ridiculous of her to even ask. "I'm not moving until you tell me what has your knickers in a twist."

She felt her cheeks flush, partly from exasperation, but also from a twinge of embarrassment, which caused her to smack at his shoulder. He allowed her a few half-hearted swings before catching her wrists in his hands. Hermione struggled, her annoyance building into anger that made her jerk against the circle of his fingers and tug against him.

Irritation flitted over Fred's face; he griped her tighter, pulling his arms and her own down tight against his side - which brought them more or less nose to nose.

Their eyes locked, briefly, and before she could even process what was going on, Hermione leaned in and pressed her mouth, hard, against his. Fred stiffened against her in surprise, before she felt his body relax all at once, practically melting against her. He let go of her wrists, instead preferring to use his hands to explore the skin on the back of her neck and under the hem of her shirt.

She pulled back, yet she didn't move away from him. They stood there, against the door, as though frozen. Hermione opened her eyes to see Fred's so close to her that the blue of his irises took up most of her field of vision. His hands stayed where they were: one on the nape of her neck, a few errant curls snared around his fingers, the other resting on the curve of her lower back. He was completely still, simply breathing her own air back to her, hot and damp and thoroughly maddening. With a groan, she leaned in and kissed him again - without the same ferocity, but all the same intensity.

Hermione was unsure just how long they stood there, exploring the recesses of each other's mouths and skimming hands over every inch of bare skin available. The only things she was consciously aware of in those moments were the physical: muscles moving, the shape of his mouth as it parted under hers, the bruising indentations in her skin where Fred attempted to pull her impossibly closer. She tangled her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, tugging without thought, and Fred let out a sound against her lips that was alarmingly hungry and wholly possessive. One large hand slid along the skin bared beneath the hem of her shirt. And though she wasn't entirely certain, she may have whimpered each time he brushed a sensitive spot at her hip.

"Oi, Fred."

Jerking backwards, Hermione stared at the door in horror. It wasn't as if George could actually see through the wood and know what they were doing, but she still felt like the proverbial kid with her hand in the cookie jar.

Fred himself didn't look much better. He was flushed, the color was high on his cheeks, the surrounding area bone white and his eyes, unfocused as they were, the size of saucers. He stared at her as though not quite believing she was standing there in front of him.

Clearing her throat, she called out, "I'm in here."

"Oh." George stopped knocking. "Sorry. You seen Fred?"

"N-," Hermione cleared her throat once more. "Can't say that I have."

The corner of Fred's mouth lifted up. At least one of them could still be amused by the situation.

"Okay. Just tell him dinner's ready if you see him," George said. Hermione stood completely still until the sound of his footsteps faded away entirely before she spoke.

"Can I get by please?"

Face unreadable, Fred stepped aside to let her pass.

Dinner was a strange affair, to say the least. Hermione couldn't summon enough concentration to even use her utensils properly, let alone manage conversation. In between the time she spent trying to figure out what someone had said to her that she'd missed, she managed to drop her fork on the floor five times. Harry and Ron kept looking at like she'd suddenly sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead from across the table. Luckily, Fred was three seats down from her on the same side of the table where she could only see him by leaning back or forward in her chair. She honestly didn't think she could face him just yet.

She tried, harder than she was proud of, to focus on the conversation going on around her, just in time to hear Ron say, "Come on, Harry, you can admit that you're not that good at chess. Even Hermione can beat you."

"Hey!" she said indignantly.

Everybody chuckled.

Ron, smiling around a mouthful of potatoes, pointed his spoon at her to emphasize his point. "No offense, Hermione, but you're not the best player in the world."

True. "Still."

Harry grinned at her in a way she hadn't seen him do since she'd been sent back. It looked good on him. "What d'you say; we'll play a game after dinner and show Ron how wrong he is?"

She smiled back. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Then it was Ron's turn to say "Hey!"

While Hermione didn't necessarily think she was as bad at chess at Ron did, she was horrible that night. And even though Harry wasn't as good as Ron, he was still good enough that he usually beat her three out of five times. That night however, with the heat of Fred's eyes boring into her and making her feel as if her brain in tatters, she played so abysmally that even Teddy could have beaten her.

"You were saying?" Ron teased. She tossed the top half of her shattered bishop at his head.

With a good-natured laugh, Ron tossed it back at her. She reparoed the pieces she and Harry had broken and Ron craned his head around, obviously in search of a game of his own. His eyes settled on Fred and asked him to play. When Fred declined (and Hermione tried not to squirm) the name calling began.

Somewhere between 'chicken' and 'all the spine of a flobberworm' Fred sank down onto the chair she vacated and Hermione took the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen and say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Feeling every bit the chicken Ron had teased Fred with being, Hermione slunk out to the back garden and apparated home. She trudged up the stairs to her flat, bones heavy with guilt and regret, wanting nothing more than to climb into her bed and wake up in the morning…

Where?

Did she want to be in her own timeline, with the job she was always proud of even if it occasionally bored her and the boyfriend she'd waited for since she was eleven, and without the knee-weakening shame of Percy's death on her conscience?

Or did she want to wake up in a world where Fred was alive and well and wreaking all sorts of havoc on her life?

Even with all the complications and emotional turmoil attached, it took her less than a second to realize that the first option wasn't an option anymore. And not just because of the consequences of magical law.

With a sigh, she fed Crookshanks and changed into her pajamas. As she wandered toward the kitchen for a glass of water there was a knock at her door.

Of course.

She went still, hoping that if she were completely silent and immobile, maybe he would think she'd already gone to bed.

"I know you're in there; the lights are on."

Cursing both him and herself, Hermione opened the door. Fred stood outside her door with his hands in his pockets and annoyance on his face. "You kissed me."

She sighed. "I know."

"Twice."

"I know," she repeated.

He looked her dead in the eye, a frown quirking his lips. "Why did you kiss me?"

Groaning, Hermione turned around. "I don't know!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. Fred shut the door behind them, only the sound of his breathing letting her know that he had come inside - not that she had expected anything else. "I just… did it."

He was simply looking at her when she turned around. Looking at her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. "You don't know?"

Frowning, she wrapped her arms around herself. For some irrational reason she felt like they weren't on equal footing being that she was dressed for bed. "Is that so strange?"

"Hermione Granger doing something without a reason?" He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'd say that was a bit odd."

She plopped onto her sofa, head falling into her hands. "I don't know; it's just… I was having a weird day, and then I was watching you and Angelina, and I was feeling so guilty and my panic attack came back and everything is so not how it's supposed to be and-" Realizing that - while she had grown accustomed to her habit of babbling when she got nervous or anxious - she had let slip a few details that Fred really did not need to know. So she promptly clamped her mouth shut.

Eyes narrowed, Fred spoke slowly, weighing his words. "Me and Angelina?"

Hermione groaned, falling back into her cushions. "That's what you're focusing on?"

Sitting across from her on her coffee table, Fred, his lips pursed in a rather comical way, squinting eyes until she could see almost nothing of the whites of his eyes. Then his expression cleared, and a wide, fiendish smile twisted the lines of his lips and filled her stomach with dread. And then, "You were jealous."

She started. "What?"

"You were." The amount to which he sounded pleased with himself made her what to take her throw pillows to his head again. "You took one look at me and Angelina and you were jealous. Admit it Granger:" he leaned into her, "you like me."

"Of course I like you, Fred," she replied, "but I was _not_ jealous."

Smile slipping off his face, he leveled a look on her. "I was."

Her stomach dropped through her feet. "What?"

Nodding, Fred rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. His standard move for when he was even slightly out of his depth. "When I saw you touching Ron's hair, I was jealous. So much so that I let myself get knocked off my broom."

Angelina's 'Where's your head, Weasley?' rang in her ears, and Hermione felt her already accelerated pulse speed up considerably. There was a time, not really all that long ago, when Hermione was very familiar with jealousy. All it took was the mere mention of Lavender Brown's name for it to flare up in her stomach, and she knew only too well what it looked like painted across Ron's features. But in the last three years - secure in the knowledge that she and Ron were solid - it had become such a foreign emotion that it took several seconds after hearing Fred's words to recognize the familiar feeling burning below her ribcage.

He was right. Of course he was. She felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, for not recognizing what all of her thinking and worrying and wondering about Fred really meant. Perhaps some part of her had, but was too terrified to acknowledge it. For all her berating of Ron's emotional insensitivity, she didn't have the best track record herself when it came to admitting how she felt. Especially when it was as inconvenient as any sort of non platonic feelings for Fred no doubt would be.

And just like any other guy, Fred was the same. Guys didn't like to talk about their feelings, not from her experience. But there he was, right in front of her, doing just that. And judging from the look on his face, he was waiting for her to do the same. She wanted to, she did. She would say it if she could but the words clogged in her throat, a tight pressure so similar to the feeling of being about to cry and not quite able to stop yourself nor force the sob out. The words hung there, stuck in her throat in a painful knot.

"Usually," he said, trying and failing for a tone of levity, "when a bloke tells a girl he likes her, he wants to hear something along those same lines in return."

"He had mud in his hair," she said, somewhat lamely. "Fred-"

He cut her off, holding a hand up. "If you're going to tell me I'm imagining things, I'd rather not hear it."

Throat and chest still painfully tight, she shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to say. I'm a little… overwhelmed."

Fred smirked. "I do tend to have that effect on women." He winked.

She laughed, the feeling unexpected and very much needed. The tension somewhat lifted, she pushed her hair out of her face. "I'm serious, Fred. I hadn't intended to… do that, and I'm not entirely sure I'm prepared to deal with the consequences."

Taking one of her hands in his, Fred stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "I'm not asking you to marry me here, Hermione. Only… admit that you feel something and just, you know, go with it."

"'Go with it'? That's your advice?"

He shrugged. "Always worked for me."

"In case you haven't noticed," she whispered, unable to look at him, "I don't have a lot of practice in just letting go for the sake of it."

"Yeah, I think that's pretty obvious by now," Fred replied, grinning.

Flushing a bit, Hermione's free hand fidgeted with the end of her hair, head ducked down. She felt suddenly that she truly was eighteen again, and all the same insecurities and inexperience of youth were there, as keenly as they had been the first time around, and she did not wish those inhibitions to be so openly displayed. "Letting myself simply… experience things, relinquishing control like that," she took a deep breath, "is a little intimidating for me."

Fred's unoccupied hand rose up and brushed a stray curl out of her face. He looked so tender in that moment that she wanted to cry.

"I like you, Hermione. I have for a while now."

"But, we're friends," she said, desperately grasping at straws, anything that would force him to draw back and leave her alone to process all of this. She couldn't deal with it yet, not this soon with, and not with him looking at her.

Fred did redraw at that, pulling his hands away from her, leaning backwards. "We're not friends, Hermione."

She recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "I thought that was the whole point of this-"

"Friends don't get jealous, Hermione. Not of little brothers and ex-girlfriends. You and I, we haven't been friends since I kissed you. And I don't want to _be _your friend."

Her head spinning, she stood up and walked over to her door. "Fine then." She opened the door, eyes glued to the floor. It seemed to take hours for Fred to stand up and walk toward her. He paused just outside the frame; she could feel his eyes on her but refused to meet them. He left, and it wasn't until she saw the far off light in his bedroom window that she allowed herself to cry.


	9. Chapter 9

_dead men are heavier than broken hearts. _

_- the big sleep, raymond chandler_

…0…

"You look awful."

Hermione frowned. She knew very well what she looked like, without Ron's help. "Thank you," she said dryly. "Want me to comment on your appearance?"

Ron rolled his eyes, stepping past her into her flat. Harry followed behind him; he looked at her closely, making her uncomfortable so she huffed and turned around. Having set his stuff down on the table, Ron was pawing through her cabinets, emerging with a box of biscuits, one already in his mouth. "Yech."

"They're sugar-free, Ron," she told him. She put the box back and grabbed a bag of baked crisps for him instead. He shrugged and sat down.

Harry sat beside him, gazing up at her intently. In her current mood, Hermione wanted to snap at him. Partly. Another part wanted to tell him everything that had happened. She missed him, as crazy as it was with him just an apparation away. He was her best friend and she was holding so much back from him.

She knew what he'd say of course. Why didn't she go further back, tell him about the Horcruxes sooner? Why didn't she save everyone?

Not that it had been up to her. It was her older self that had sent her back, that had sent her to the battle with one clear instruction and an unbreakable vow, with no time to think. If she'd had time, she would have planned something - anything. Perhaps used a shield charm to keep the rocks from falling on anybody. Maybe told Harry where the diadem had been the second she realized where she was. Hermione had always prided herself on being logical and rational, but the pure energy she'd been running on that night had canceled all that out.

She'd done what she had promised: she saved Fred, no matter the cost. And now she didn't know which end was up.

They studied for a few hours, poring over charms books and practicing on the various items littered about her kitchen. Ron, realizing that she wasn't in the best of moods, was uncharacteristically quiet. They plodded through, reminding her of the times they'd tried to study together in school after a bout of bickering on two of their parts. It wasn't long at all before Ron announced that he'd had enough and decided to wander over to the joke shop to see what Fred and George were doing.

She tidied up in the kitchen, even though it didn't really need it, and made a half-hearted attempt at dinner. She asked Harry if wanted to stay, but he didn't answer.

Turning, she frowned at him. "Harry - are you listening to me?"

He doesn't answer, not really. Instead, "You've been crying."

A small bubble of panic formed in her chest. She thought about denying it, or just begging off an excuse of not feeling well, or having read a sad book, but she just… didn't want to.

So she compromised.

"It was being at the Burrow," she said. "I haven't been there in a while…" Harry nodded. "It was hard, being there. I just," she took a deep breath, "I feel really, really guilty about what happened to Percy."

Surprise glittered behind the round lenses of his glasses. He stood, walking over to where she was standing in front of her stove. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and licked his lips - a habit she'd long ago learned was his way of taking a moment before speaking when he didn't want to let on that he was nervous or unsure. "Hermione," he said slowly, "what happened to Percy wasn't your fault."

All at once, her eyes filled with tears as though she had turned on a faucet. "Yes it was. When I pushed Fred out of the way, those rocks fell on Percy-"

"They were standing right beside each other; it could have been either one of them," Harry reasoned. "They weren't paying attention to a wall behind them, they were focused on the people throwing curses."

"And Percy making a joke," she said. A chill swept over her, remembering with a shocking clarity the eerie image of Fred, dead with a smile on his face. It was one she feared would never leave her.

Harry smiled, though it was a small, somewhat sad one. "Yeah."

She sat down. Wiping at her eyes, Hermione flicked her eyes up to Harry. He was so certain. If he only knew, what she'd done…

Ron popped back through the door, and she schooled her features quickly. Ron was a bit thick when it came to emotions, but even he would notice if she had tears running down her cheeks. He walked in, scowling though, both of his hands holding bulging, bright magenta Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes bags.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked him.

"Fred," he muttered, and Hermione felt a slight grip of panic. "He was in a right mood."

Peering into one of his bags, Harry remarked, "Couldn't have been too bad, for him to give you all this."

Ron flopped down onto Hermione's couch, placing the other bag on the floor in front of him to go through it. "I think he was just trying to get rid of me. George said he's been awful all week."

Guilty, Hermione turned back to the stove and started fiddling with the knobs. She remained silent, listening to the two of them discussing the various contents of his bags, and then Fred's bad mood. Ron's voice began to gain momentum, and she recognized the beginning of a full fledged rant coming on, so she went on with her cooking and tuned the two of them out. Then they went silent and, out of curiosity, she turned around.

In the ten plus years that Hermione had known Harry and Ron, she'd seen them both wearing basically every conceivable expression. But just then the two of them were both sitting completely silent and stone-faced, looking down at the floor. "What is it?"

"Fred's bad mood," Harry said, gently. When she didn't respond, he went on, looking just a touch nervous. "Tomorrow is Percy's birthday."

…0…

Tentatively, Hermione raised her hand and knocked on the door. She heard the faint sound of bare-feeted footsteps before the door swung open. "Hey, Hermione."

"Hi." She forced herself to keep her eyes up, looking George right in the eye instead of averting her gaze the way she wanted to. "Um, is Fred here?"

"Yeah." He stepped back, allowing her entrance into the twins' flat. She'd waited until Harry and Ron left, heading off to dinner at the Burrow, before she made a beeline to the shop and caught Verity just as she was locking up. "He's in his room." George caught her arm as she headed toward the hallway. "Word of warning: he's been a total git the last few days. Don't let him get to you."

She offered a small, entirely false smile. "I won't."

As George wandered into the kitchen, Hermione took a deep breath and headed for Fred's room. There were only two bedrooms in the flat, but she figured the one with the open door was George's so she knocked on the other door. Not surprisingly, there was no response. "Fred," she called. Still nothing. "Fred, I'm coming in."

He was stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. He made no move to acknowledge her presence and Hermione frowned. She let a few seconds pass before taking a step closer to the bed. "Fred, I know you're upset with me-"

"It's not all about you, Hermione," he spat, still not looking at her, though a flush of anger had risen in his face. He rolled over, turning his back to her.

Through a flare of her own anger and embarrassment, Hermione took a few deep breaths and tried to remind herself that he was hurting. So instead of aiming a punch at him like she was considering, she kicked at the mattress with all her might. It gave a great jostle and Fred fell with a thump to the floor.

Face as red as his hair, he stood up. His mouth was nothing more than a thin white line on his face and his eyes were wide glittering blue orbs in his face. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"I know what tomorrow is, Fred," she said, watching his eyes flash and he swallowed hard. "And I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to," she fought against the swell of tears threatening to clog up her throat, "but I happen to care about you, you big idiot, and I'm not going anywhere until I know you're alright."

Several awkward, painfully tense moments passed. The two of them stared at one another in silence. Hermione was afraid that she had been right and she really was the last person he wanted to talk to. Finally, Fred took a deep breath and shuddered out, "Didn't anyone tell you that it's impolite to call people names?"

Hermione laughed in relief. "Well if it walks like a duck…"

"Yeah, yeah." Fred sat back down on the bed, scooting until his back was against the headboard. He waved a hand at the edge of the mattress, silently inviting her to sit. So she did, fiddling with the buttons on her coat instead of looking at him.

"When we were kids," he began, "Percy was… fantastic. Really." Fred's voice got hazy, reminding her a bit of Luna, as he got lost in his memories. "Bill and Charlie were away at Hogwarts, and Ron and Ginny were too little to play with us… so it was just us three. Then he started school and he was determined to beat Bill at everything, to get some of the glory Bill had always gotten and he just… he changed." His voice caught. Hermione looked up to see his hand covering his eyes and his chest rising and falling with a series of quick, shallow breaths.

Fred was - or was about to start - crying. The fact sent a bolt of shock through Hermione unlike anything else she'd ever felt. Fred was generally so unflappable, and as upset as she'd seen him get on various occasions, she never thought she would see him like this. She'd only ever seen two men cry: Harry and Ron, and those times were nothing like the one she was currently in.

Crawling up to the head of the bed, Hermione gently pulled his hand away. Lacing her fingers with his, she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. She didn't know what else she could say - there _wasn't _anything else she could say, not without admitting everything and she wasn't prepared to do that.

"It should have been me."

Hermione's head shot up. She stared at Fred, her mouth hanging open. She was certain she must have looked ridiculous but didn't care. "Fred, you don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do." He looked at her; Hermione saw that his eyes were shiny with unshed tears, lashes stuck together in starry points and it broke her heart. "Percy was going to have a great life. We all knew that. He was going to go up through the Ministry, probably marry some brilliant girl and have a whole houseful of genius babies." Hermione thought, briefly, of Audrey. Percy had brought her to dinner the week before Hermione had been sent back and she wondered what would happen to her now.

Fred went on, bitter smile on his face. "I saw Mum yesterday. God, she was a wreck. All this time she's seemed so strong but it was just a front. Percy was her favorite-"

"Your mother loves you all," Hermione interjected. Having seen firsthand the kind of anguish that Molly Weasley felt over losing Fred, she knew that there was no way she could ever have loved any one of her children more - not more than Fred, or any of the rest.

"But she was so proud of him." Of course Fred would argue with her, even now. It was just who he was. "And he'd finally come around. After so long-" He broke off. His voice was fully clogged now, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I don't want you to see me like this."

With tears of her own welling up, Hermione landed her chin on his shoulder, leaning her forehead to his cheek. "It's okay to miss him," she whispered. Her throat closed up over a lump that had lodged itself firmly in front of her vocal chord.

She felt like dirt. This was all her fault. Through her own selfishness she'd brought this on Fred. On all of them, all the people she loved. And this was just another a painful reminder of a life that had slipped away.

No. Not slipped, stolen. By her.

"What can I do?" she asked. She wound her arms around his, squeezed. "Please tell me how I can help."

Fred shook his head. His hands dropped to his lap and he gifted her with the tiniest of smiles. "You don't have to fix me, Hermione."

"I'm not trying to."

He pulled himself loose from her grasp. He took hold of the hem of his shirt and pulled, using it as a makeshift handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. After a few deep breaths, he turned back to her. "Well, either you're trying to fix me or you're trying to take advantage of me in my moment of weakness."

Hermione laughed; it was one of those sad watery laughs that was more about relief than anything else. She squeezed his arms again, the closest thing to a hug she could manage in their current position. Resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, she concentrated on trying to calm herself down before she spoke.

Fred made a scoffing noise in his throat. "Knew it."

Smiling, Hermione simply held on.

…0…

The bed beside Hermione was still warm when she woke up, an odd coldness having roused her from the warm, deep sleep she'd fallen into.

She certainly hadn't planned to fall asleep on Fred's bed, but it had happened. And she was fairly positive that Fred had been beside her, telling her stories about Percy that she never would have believed, when she drifted off.

Taking one brief, silly, moment for self-indulgence, Hermione turned her head and took in a full deep breath. The smell that she'd always associated with Fred; sugar and parchment and what she suspected was probably gunpowder, invaded her senses. It was a combination she expected came from all the hours he spent concocting whatever popped into his head, a smell that was distinctly Fred and had clung to him - and only him - as long as she'd known him.

But, she reminded herself then, in this direction there was danger.

Finding her shoes (When did she take them off?) at the foot of the bed, Hermione crept as silently as she could manage through the flat.

Fred was asleep on the couch, his long legs askew: one dangled over the sofa arm and the other grazing the floor. His arms were flung over his head, dangling over the other end of the couch. His lips were parted slightly, moving with each exhalation.

Hermione felt the corners of her lips turn upwards. Fred actually looked… innocent when he was asleep. She suppressed a laugh. Fred was many things, but he was never innocent.

Then, like somebody had switched on a television, she was assailed with the only other mental picture she had of Fred looking so peaceful and still.

Feeling slightly nauseas, she tip-toed out of the flat, trying to hold back the urge to stay and stare at Fred just to prove to herself that he was fine.

…0…

There was a veritable carpet of daisies covering the area in front of her door the next morning, a large vase full of flowers sitting in the middle, and three chocolate lollipops attached to her door.

…0…

As she was leaving Flourish & Blott's that evening, Hermione heard a whistle behind her. Fred was leaning against the wall of Ollivander's across the street, grinning at her.

And embarrassingly, Hermione felt her stomach flutter.

It wasn't the most convenient thing in the world, that was certain. Though it had only been a recent realization, admitting to herself that she had feelings for Fred had changed everything she had thought she knew. And the physical attraction was the biggest challenge. Reason was enough to keep her from acting on her growing feelings - as was that picture of Fred lying perfectly still that lingered in the back of her mind - but whenever she would let herself entertain the ideas, she lost all sense of her reason.

And it wasn't as if that was all there was to it. Fred was, she realized, actually very likable. Having been so focused on school and trying to stay out of trouble (when she could, thanks to Harry and Ron) she hadn't really noticed it when she was younger. Not that she disliked him. No, she just… hadn't known him, not really.

Now though, now she knew him. And she liked him.

A great deal.

"Hi," she said, in a voice she hoped didn't betray her. "What are you doing out here?"

Fred shrugged. "I was on my way back from Gringott's, saw you through the window." He grinned at her, peeking into the bag she was carrying with her. "They paying you in books now?"

With a shake of her head, she laughed. "No. I doubt that would pay my rent. I just thought I'd take advantage of my employee discount."

"'Bout time," he teased. "Anything racy in there?" Seeing her blush hotly, he beamed at her and produced a familiar-looking chocolate lollipop from his pocket. "Guaranteed to put you in a good mood for at least an hour."

She narrowed her eyes at him. No matter what else had changed, Hermione knew better than to accept any sort of food from a Weasley twin without caution.

Seeing her suspicion, Fred held a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'm wounded, I truly am. I'll have you know that these aren't even on the shelves yet. You're getting quite the scoop here." He waggled it in front of her face. "We used Honeyduke's best chocolate and everything."

Gingerly, Hermione took it, eyeing it as if some nefarious secret was about to pop through the wrapper and announce itself. "I'm not going to sprout feathers or a tail, am I?"

It was extremely obvious that Fred was trying not to laugh or make some inappropriate joke. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that she recognized and he was biting his lip so hard she was afraid it would start bleeding. "I promise," he said after a few seconds, voice heavy with repressed laughter, "that will do nothing but make you highly chipper. Honest." He took a step closer and lowered his voice, eyes intent on her face. "It wouldn't be very smart of me to ply you with trick sweets when I'm trying to convince you to go out with me, now would it?"

Feeling the flutters in her stomach start up again, Hermione ducked her head, twisting the stem of her lollipop between her fingers. "That might explain for all the flowers I found outside my door this morning."

He beamed down at her. "I was rather proud of that. But I take it you didn't try the candy yet?"

Shaking her head, Hermione peeled back the wrapper. She knew she probably had very little to worry about… but being cautious was part of her nature and she let herself briefly wonder whether or not Fred could have added in a few drops of a love potion or something similar.

(It wasn't necessary, but she wasn't ready for him to know that yet.)

Taking an experimental bite, she waited for any odd feelings to occur. Nothing did. Fred looked impossibly pleased with himself.

He fell into step beside her, asking her about her day and her plans for that evening (giving Crookshanks a bath and then revision) and being uncharacteristically attentive. And then…

"So, you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Startled, Hermione came to a stop in the middle of the street. The man walking a few paces behind her carry a tower of cauldrons in various sizes nearly knocked into her. She apologized, turning back to see Fred looking at her expectantly. "Fred, I don't think this is such a good idea."

"No, it's not," he said. "It's a great idea."

Exasperated, she laughed. "Fred…"

They had reached her building by then. Hermione set her bag down at her feet, moving off to the side of the door so as not to block it - and in case anyone they knew might happen by. Pushing her hair behind her ears, Hermione shook her head, trying to let the rational 21 year old adult side of herself do the thinking and not the 18 year old who was in danger of letting the euphoric feelings of infatuation overtake her good sense.

"Answer me something," Fred said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay."

He tilted his head to one side, his expression soft yet somewhat guarded as he asked, "You do like me, right? I mean, it's not all in my head or anything?"

Mouth suddenly dry, Hermione swallowed. This was it. One beat, one breath, one small moment in time where she knew this had the potential to forever change her life and for a second she thought of Ron; she remembered their time together in what she had come to think of as her 'other life' in snapshots - tiny, perfect moments that she held tight inside, locked in her heart, safe from the reality of her life now.

Hermione was never the little girl who believed in fairytales. She didn't expect a Prince Charming, was never worried about evil step-mothers. And then Hermione fought in a war. She lived her life on the run, never knowing from one minute to the next whether she was going to survive the night. She had seen real evil and still managed, despite everything, to believe in happy endings. Because, through her friendship with Harry and seeing what he'd gone through, she believed in destiny. And for a long time - longer than she cared to admit - Hermione also believed that the working hands of fate had designed a future she could see arranged in front of her like the constellations of the sky for her where she got that happily ever after.

And Fred was not the Weasley she'd always seen in that vision.

That hadn't stop the fluttering in her stomach, or the way she found herself struck by each individual movement he made, cataloguing limb and gesture away like study notes, or wondering at various points in her days what he was doing.

There was a choice to be made here, but could she really do it? Could she look him in the eye and deny that she felt something - knowing that there was something else so much bigger she was keeping from him.

"No," she whispered, "it's not in your head."

At first his face went blank, still, and then a slow smile curled the edges of his lips. His face changed completely she realized. It had always been so unusual to see either Fred or George without the faintest traces of a humor lining their faces that she'd never before noticed just what a difference it made.

(She should have, knowing the look of grief on George's face as well as she did. But in those months, with Fred back, she forgot.)

To dispel the butterflies that had sprung to life in her stomach, Hermione took a large bite of her lollipop and felt the effects finally begin to kick in. A tiny smile of her own began to form. She ducked her head, but peeked back up at him from beneath her lashes. He was still there, smiling and looking at her, hadn't moved an inch.

Meeting her eyes, he nodded towards the candy. "Good, right?"

A snort escaped before she could stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth, entire face red from embarrassment. Fred doubled over laughing, one hand to the wall to keep himself upright. Huffing, she made to walk past him but he took hold of her wrist and pulled her back.

"Sorry." He composed himself, though his mouth continued to twitch for a few seconds before he spoke. "So… how's about tomorrow night?"

Sighing, Hermione picked her bag up. "Fred, I may be in a magically induced good mood, but I still don't think we should."

"So, you're admitting that you do like me, but you think a date with a bad idea? One little date. Isn't that a bit like showing somebody a big red button that has 'Push Me' written on it and then telling them not to push it?"

Hermione raised a brow. He really was exasperating when he was making sense. "Let me guess; you'd push the button, wouldn't you?"

"Oh yes," he said, bobbing his head. "That's me: Fred Weasley, button pusher."

Bad idea. It was a. Bad. Idea. She knew it. But…

"One date." In response to the enormous smile of self-congratulation he wore, she frowned and snapped, "Quit looking smug or the deal is off."

He merely continued to smile. "I'm not looking smug, this is just my face."

With a scoff, Hermione flounced inside.

…0…

_Yeah, I didn't really like this one._


End file.
